


Over the Eternal Garden Wall and Into the Unknown

by WildtailOfWindClan



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Ending, Gen, King of the Beasts and Queen of the Clouds, Main Fic, began as roleplay idea and turned into solo fic, possibly edited in future, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildtailOfWindClan/pseuds/WildtailOfWindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down deep in the midst of mystery and wonder lies a place few have seen. A place where frogs sing reveries of beauty and lost pilgrims. A place where children go to play and wayward souls go to wander. A mysterious place, called the Unknown. Where long-forgotten wishes wipe away canon endings and bring forth better, darker and more emotional adventures than ever before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone. x3 This was my first-ever fanfiction and started as a roleplay. (The collaboration was heavily on my side, and the other author's input was minimal apart from support, so we decided to let me take over completely.) I'll be going back to edit this further once it's finished, but for now, just try to get past four chapters before turning it down. ^^' Haha. I promise; it gets good. This is my original AU idea, mostly canon-based! There's a side-fic, too! Enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Farewell**

 

"Come with us," Wirt offered suddenly once his little brother Gregory was securely on his back and his frog tucked away in his arms.

Beatrice shook her head sadly. "Wirt, I’ve got to go home too. Tell my family it's my fault they're bluebirds." She let out a regretful sigh, her usually calm and collected mood dampened by the events of the day.

Wirt cleared his throat with a small smile, revealing to the solemn bluebird a glistening pair of golden scissors that resembled a bird. When she didn't say anything, the fifteen year-old added, "The scissors — that will make your family human again."

Beatrice's humanly intelligent eyes widened in shock. "What?" She stammered, blue wings bursting open in surprise, which quickly turned into irritation. “You had them all along?!”

"I-I used them to escape Adelaide and then —" the gnome-costumed boy explained, the next part coming out sheepishly, "and yeah, I was sorta mad at you."

The traumatized human-turned-bluebird began to tear up, pure emotion finally taking its toll on her. Unable to hold back her gratitude, she flew up to Wirt from her Edelwood perch and enveloped him in a big, feathery hug. "Oh, you wonderful mistake of nature," she sobbed, a single tear falling from her eye.

Wirt stiffened for a moment, the gesture unexpected. The rude bluebird didn't seem the type to thank anyone for anything and even now her joy could not fully extinguish her annoyance of him.  _ Hey. At least she called me wonderful. _ Remembering Beatrice's family's request, Wirt returned her embrace (which was somehow not at all uncomfortable, considering she was a bird) with a content grin on his face. He let her stay there for a while, then she pulled away, trying to smile as well.

"So you're going to take Greg home, huh," she sighed, regret in her gaze.

Wirt nodded, repositioning his younger brother who had begun to slip off. He had just rescued Gregory from the Beast, a monstrous creature of evil, and the poor fellow had nearly been drained of his life. Wirt ached to know that it had been his fault all along, despite Gregory’s rebuttal. Diverting his mind from his half-brother, Wirt took in Beatrice's depressing fake grin, which somehow made him feel worse than before. 

“Then I guess this is goodbye.” His friend, who had become so dear to him though their trials, let out a shaky breath.

Wirt felt a stab of disappointment. He would have to take Greg home and probably never see Beatrice again. "I -" Wirt frowned, unable to accept it. There had to be a way. There had to be a happy ending to their story. Then, an idea, "Then let us come with you."

"With me?" Beatrice echoed, more shocked than before. "I thought you had to go home. Why would you want to come with me?"

Wirt pressed his mouth into a thin line. Why did he want to come with her? "Because," the boy started, frantically searching for an answer.  _ Because what? Oh, if only the sea didn't crash so heavily into the shore, the current a rickety waterfall for fish to climb for fear of failing. For along that path led — _

"Wirt!" The bluebird snapped him to attention. He wasn't sure if she was expressing her urgency out of impatience or caution. Beatrice was flapping restlessly in the air and she kept glancing at the Woodsman and the Beast from across the clearing. "Wirt, I really don't care what kind of dorky delusion you're in, but if we don't leave right now they might not let us have another chance. You might not have another chance to go," she warned, a hidden message behind her words. "Gregory needs you, Wirt."

"I know." Wirt let out a sigh, his resources drained. Of course. He was just being selfish, that's all. He just wanted to keep his friend.

"I'm sorry," the bird comforted him in a soft voice, full of melancholy. "Goodbye, Wirt."

The boy had to hold back tears, his hand clenched tightly around the witch’s magical scissors. "Goodbye —" Wirt paused. "Wait."  _ The scissors. _ She hadn't taken them from him. "Beatrice. Beatrice, come here." Wirt beckoned her into the trees, trying to get out of eyesight. He didn't want the Beast to confront them again. Once he made it to a secluded area, the light of the sun filtering through the trees so he could see, Wirt looked behind him to see if she followed. She had.

"Give me your wings so I can cut them," Wirt demanded. She froze. "If I can't come with you, at least give me this honor. I want to see how you look. As a human."

Reluctantly, Beatrice came to him, sitting on a tree stump for stability. She nodded her agreement, gulping nervously.

_ Here goes . . .  _ Wirt took a deep breath, lifting one of her delicate blue wings with his hand as he attempted to steady his other, which was trembling madly. Every possible thing that could go wrong ran through his mind. He could slip or drop and break the scissors or even worse — what if they weren't even real?! But he didn't have much choice, now did he? Experimenting with them, he cut off one of her flight feathers, startled when it exploded in a shower of sparkles. "I-is that supposed to happen?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes, dummy. That's how it works." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh. I thought I had to literally clip off your wings," he responded, relieved beyond measure. He thought he could see her relax as well. Soon all of her flight feathers were gone, and in a brilliant burst of light she transformed from a beautiful bird into a girl. She had red hair tied up in a bun and was attired in a long, blue silk gown. Her cheeks were flushed and freckled nicely and . . . she was taller than him. He hung his mouth open in surprise.

She giggled in amusement and plucked the scissors from his hand. "Thank you, Wirt," she smirked, her voice the only thing that was the same as before. "I guess you can go now."

It took him a while, but he answered, "Uh, yeah. I'm gonna get going now. Goodbye Beatrice."

"Goodbye Wirt."

 

o-o-o-o

 

Everything felt as if he were dreaming, fuzziness overwhelming the seven year-old boy’s senses. He thought he could hear voices, although the undecodable murmurings that surrounded him could have been nothing but his imagination. With great effort and curiosity, Greg forced open his eyes a crack, struggling to keep them open so his sight could clarify the familiar noises. Unable to make anything out, Wirt’s younger brother closed them again and relaxed, allowing the teen’s welcoming warmth shield him from the bitter cold that engulfed him entirely before.


	2. Light of My Life

**Chapter 2: Light of My Life**

 

Meanwhile in the midst of the snowy Unknown, a conflict had reached its climax, an emotional battle that could change the fate of many in its outcome.

The sudden realization that his daughter's soul had not been in the lantern crushed the old lumberjack with an unbelievable force, regret and disbelief rushing through him in great waves. He had cut down dozens and dozens of Edelwood trees to keep the dark lantern’s flame going all in attempt to save his daughter’s spirit from fading away into the darkness, never to be seen again. The man had been grinding the remains of lost souls for seasons upon end, using the trees of hope-stripped life. But it had all been a lie. Everything. All so the Beast could continue to haunt the woods in peace and not have to worry about a lantern’s flame slowly flickering out.

The Woodsman looked up at the Beast in a mixture of shock, horror and sadness, all of his deeds catching up to him. His voice was shaky, but not uncertain as he asked, “She was never in the lantern, was she, Beast?”

The creature of shadows matched the Woodsman’s gaze, his eerie eyes glowing brightly through the dimness. The contrast held a creepy air, as if they were peering into his mind to find his deepest, darkest secrets. "Listen, Woodsman," the Beast commanded as a chilly gust of wind swept across the ground between them. “ _ Listen to me. _ ”

The Woodsman felt the monster speaking behind him, directly in his ear, although the old man had only glanced away for a brief second. Even if the Beast wasn’t a physical form, he was still fast and unpredictable. It was a miracle that that wasn’t an issue in terms of getting rid of him. The Beast couldn’t touch the lantern, nor the Woodsman no matter how much he wanted to. So if he wanted to take a chance . . . The Woodsman lifted the lantern up high, so he could see inside its fiery depths. The glow of what seemed to be countless lost souls swirled inside, the deep orange hue he knew so well radiating from the object.

“The boy was wrong. I just wanted to protect her. I’ve  _ always  _ wanted to protect her. For you, Woodsman, ” the Beast explained, gesturing to him with a shadowy hand. “Everything I’ve done so far has meant to help you.”

The Woodsman took in a quick breath, beginning to doubt himself. Was the Beast really telling the truth? Or was this all a ploy? Turning around to face him, the grieving father searched the Beast’s face for sincerity, but none was to be found in the dark void broken only by his piercing orbs. Despite that, the Woodsman lowered the lantern, if by only an inch.

Encouraged that the Woodsman was swaying from his threatening position, the Beast continued, “I’ve only been reminding you all this time that your daughter needed your attention so she could continue to live. The two boys were against you. So I had to get rid of them. But the older boy was so lost already that I hardly had to give any effort in removing his little brother from the Unknown. He was so determined to do what he felt was right that it was easy for me to get him to help you and your daughter. The small one brought me the things I needed to turn him into an Edelwood willingly, after all.”

The Woodsman fought to keep his will, but it was fading fast. 

“And the elder nearly blew out your daughter’s flame,” the Beast added, his tone becoming malicious. “I couldn’t let that happen, now could I? Not after you’ve worked so hard to keep it lit.” 

The old man’s grip on the lantern began to weaken, as he visually trembled with the memory. Perhaps the Beast was telling the truth after all and the creature had been on his side the entire time.

“You see, Woodsman?” the Beast offered convincingly.  “All who perish here will become trees for your lantern. Cut them down with your axe! Go! Now!”

For a moment, the man stood motionless, save for his hand tightening once more. Could he really do that? Could he really continue on as before, chopping trees with this knowledge? It would save his daughter’s life, but how many more would he have to take? Hundreds? Thousands? It was unacceptable. The man, unable to take the pressure of keeping the accursed flame lit, lifted the lantern to eye-level once more.  

The Beast, noticing what he was about to do, let out an aggressive cry, “Stop! You’ll never see your daughter again, Woodsman. Are you really ready to go back to that empty house?”

The Woodsman took a breath, beginning to tear up. But it had to be done. It had to. 

“ _No!_ _Woodsman!_ ” the Beast wailed, a horrifying sound, although a tad bit early for panic. The old man had not let released his breath, unable to blow it out at the last moment. Tears left their marks on the his face, wet streams of distress that reflected the orange light of the lantern. To the Beast’s astonishment, the Woodsman lowered the lantern completely, only then allowing himself to let out his breath. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to let the light go out, much to the Beast’s relief.

The Woodsman stood with his head tilted towards the floor, in indescribable emotional pain. “All these poor lost souls . . .” he mumbled, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he mourned. “I’m sorry. I’ve failed you all.”

All but the Beast, who held in his smugness as he gazed upon the Woodsman. A pathetic figure, one that could not even blow out a candle. The old man had proved himself useful all these years and now the Beast was certain that he needn’t worry ever again that the lantern would stay bright. “Are you done yet, Woodsman?” The dark figure tipped his head to the side. “The flame will run out of oil to burn soon.”

The Woodsman glanced up at the Beast, defeated finally. Without a word, he retrieved the axe near Gregory’s Edelwood sapling and disappeared into the forest, axe in one hand, lantern in the other.


	3. Determination is Key

**Chapter 3: Determination is Key**

 

Wirt trudged slowly out of the Unknown — or so he thought. Each snow-covered tree he passed seemed to be the same as the one before; every step he took was heavy and pained, the burden of his brother and companionable frog weighing him down. The snowing had ceased earlier that day and the blanket of white on the ground appeared untouched, no footprints to be found. That was an encouraging sign, at least.

The boy’s dark blue cape whipped in the wind, the red lining becoming battered with the wind’s offerings of small bits of ice and fallen leaves. Without the thick canopy to close off the view above, the once blocked heavens were open to the eye, the break of dawn spreading warm beams of color across the night sky. 

Wirt wiped cold sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, puffing out a breath like fog. The deep chill of the air crystallized the moisture from his mouth and the human-made smoke blended into the surrounding gloom with relative ease. It felt like ages since he bid farewell to Beatrice, but Wirt still hadn't found a single sign that he was on the right track.  _ I thought finding the way back home would be obvious . . . _ The teen observed the bleak setting with a sigh, regret and hopelessness beginning to set in. Even so, Wirt continued forth with as much determination as he could muster, one foot in front of the other, eyeing the scenery for distinguishing landmarks but coming up disappointedly empty.  _ Maybe I should have stayed with Beatrice like I wanted to. _ Wirt frowned, the former bluebird's image popping into his mind at the thought.  _ At least  _ she _ accepts me, unlike everyone else. Sara probably — no, she _ does  _ think I'm a loser and I don't even know if anyone even cares that I'm gone. I wonder if they even noticed with that Jason Funderberker there, the center of attention. Good old Jason Funderberker! _ Wirt let out a bitter laugh at the mention of his rival. _ Gregory needs help but really, I think I'm better off here. Here I actually feel like I'm worth something. Maybe Beatrice was right all along. Maybe I do belong in the Unknown. _

Wirt's eyes became cloudy and he felt suddenly exhausted, as if he could not bear to carry on any further. He wanted to curl up in the snow and rest forever. But he couldn't do that. No, he couldn't. Shaking his head to rid the thought, Wirt managed to carry on against the freezing wind despite his body's protests. Gregory's weight seemed to help him instead of hinder his progress, allowing for a welcome reminder that he was doing this for someone he cared about. For someone he loved.

 

o-o-o-o

 

Wirt's feet had nearly fallen off from overuse by the time he found a place where he thought it would be safe to stop. His cargo had wore him to the point of utter desperation and the break in the tree-filled landscape filled him with insurmountable joy. An empty hill sloped down into a small field of grasses and shrubs covered in a thin layer of ice, broken only by a frozen stream that snaked its way across the surface. Without a second thought, Wirt stumbled down the hill, nearly forgetting to keep his load balanced as he did. Claiming a patch of ground, he gratefully set Gregory and the frog on the chilled floor and laid down beside them, the frost hardly a concern for the older boy. Wirt let out a satisfied sigh of relief as he shut his eyes. All he wanted to do now was relax. Relax and —

“Wirt . . . W-wirt . . .”

At the sound of a familiar voice calling his name, the tired teen snapped to attention, sitting up suddenly. Wirt’s eyes darted around the clearing and came to rest on his younger brother with a gasp. The brown-haired seven year-old was sprawled on the grass with his eyes clenched tightly shut, his muscles twitching every few seconds as he attempted to form words of his own.

“Greg! Greg, it’s me, Wirt!” Wirt exclaimed, bending over his brother in concern. The teen placed a hand on Gregory’s shoulder, immediately comforting the young figure. The small boy’s eyes relaxed under their lids as he exhaled, a sign that Wirt’s presence had soothed him. The eldest smiled softly, reassured that his brother would make it no matter what the Beast had said. “I’m going to get you home, Greg,” Wirt vowed, surety giving him strength. “I promise.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

After a short nap in the winter daylight, Wirt stretched his arms and legs, prepared to journey on and save Gregory, something that didn’t seem as far away as it had.

“Alright, Greg,” he announced, lifting his brother up off of the ground, beaming. “It’s time to go.”

Frog in hand, Wirt carried along, intent on following the stream out of the Unknown — or as far out as he could get using its guidance. His shoes crunched the brittle plants beneath them as he walked and the now-gentle breeze carried the promising scent of spring. 

The quick sleep in the field had cleared Wirt’s mind, gifting him with an optimistic reverie of what was in store and a faithful desire that the happy ending he had imagined would become a reality. And no one was there to tell him otherwise.


	4. I'll Be There

**Chapter 4: I'll Be There**

 

“You know, Greg, they say it’s not about the destination; it’s about the journey,” the gnome-dressed boy mused absent-mindedly, breathing in a whiff of the cool breeze, the smell of nature freeing his senses as he ambled along the side of the thawing river and calmly listened to the rattling of the branches of the trees that lined the top of the hill. “I remember how you said the other day that the time we spent in the Unknown should be spent in hope and prosperity and I think now I understand what you meant. I can find it in me to appreciate things more and ‘feel the dirt’ and ‘smell that tree’, as you call it.” Wirt expressed a mixture of an amused chuckle and an appeased sigh. The teen had taken to talking to his brother ever since the revelation that his half-brother was still alive and possible to revive. He figured that his voice would help alleviate whatever Gregory was going through and it comforted himself as well to hear spoken language to break the silence every now and then.

Wirt continued to follow the easy path of the stream, letting his mind drift astray from his troubles. Passing over a fallen log, the fifteen year-old found it in him to recite poetry, but a different kind than his usual variety. The bliss of the late evening had overtaken him and, in a forceful need to express his merriment, pushed aside the solemn vocabulary he normally used in place of more serene and uplifting words.

“The brilliant light of day sings a pure melody to those who care to listen, as the placid lapping of the stream comforts those in need. I wander through the joyous snow-covered pasture, carrying the happiness of life on my shoulders and the being of friendship and humor in my hands. My soul is free; I fly higher than a bird and lighter than a feather drifting towards the ground; the ambient music of the breeze lulling me into peace.” Wirt took a deep breath after that last line, feeling rather satisfied with his work. After a minute of walking in comfortable silence, the older brother added, “Greg, sometimes I wonder why I never felt like this before we came to the Unknown. Maybe it’s better here. Or maybe I just never cared to take a look around.” Not expecting a reply, Wirt quieted himself, becoming content with simply allowing his surroundings carry him back into their world of wonder.

 

o-o-o-o

 

The half-moon peeked out from beneath the clouds, illuminating the ground below in a bluish tint of color. Wirt gazed upon the reflectant stream with sleepy eyes, having traveled all day with hardly any rest. Off in the distance, an owl hooted, the sound echoing from the cliff to the side. Crickets chirped under the stars and the air was scented with the fresh chill of night.

Gregory slept peacefully on Wirt’s back, his even breaths able to be heard over the crashing of a nearby waterfall. Wirt paused.  _ Wait. Waterfall? _ The teen squinted his eyes, following the path of the river ahead. It was too dark to be sure, but Wirt thought he could see the covering of ice break up more near the surface of the water. The slow current had picked up speed and even further down, the stream came to an abrupt halt, a moonlit formation of mist escaping the cliff below.

Not wanting to mistakenly slip off the edge of the cliff, Wirt slowed his pace and kept his eyes to the ground, searching for any sharp slopes that may cause him and his load to fall. Soon the teen reached the barest edge of what was walkable, seeing the Unknown from his vantage point and gazing upon the vast stretches of forest in awe. Closer to the cliff was a clearing bathed in darkness, but the shadowy figures below were too hard to make out in the dim light of the moon.

“Wow,” Wirt breathed in astonishment. “The forest goes on and on, doesn’t it? I never thought it could be this big.” The frog in his hands, ironically named Jason Funderburker by Wirt himself, croaked in what sounded like agreement. Wirt jumped, startled, and nearly toppled down the cliff with Gregory’s added weight. Jason gave another scared croak, holding on to Wirt tightly.

“Whoa, that sure was a fright,” Wirt remarked, immediately taking a few shaky steps away from the cliff edge. Looking down at his now-awake frog, Wirt added, “Never,  _ ever _ do that again, okay?” The frog simply ribbited again, scrambling out of Wirt’s grasp and hopping onto the grass in search of bugs to eat.

Watching Jason Funderburker snapping up small flies and crickets made Wirt’s stomach growl, weirdly.  _ I didn’t realize how hungry I was,  _ Wirt realized, glancing around to see if there were any familiar fruits or vegetables growing nearby. The only plantlife Wirt could find were small bushes that yielded nothing edible, a few purple and pink flowers, and the many, many trees that shrouded this part of the Unknown. He sighed in disappointment. “Nothing to do about it, I guess.”

About ready to stop for the night, Wirt picked Jason off of the ground and tucked the frog in the crook of his arm once more. It let out a cry of protest, but the boy didn’t let it go. “Sorry buddy, but I need to find a way down this ledge. You can eat dinner later,” he apologised with an empathetic smile.

Using his other arm to balance Gregory — who had become easy to carry after Wirt had done it for a while — he picked his way to the right of the cliff, trying to find an easy slope or path to the bottom. Overhanging branches blocked most of his view of the cliffside, but Wirt finally managed after a few minutes of seeking to find a jumble of large boulders leading to the ground about two hundred meters below, which was rather short for a waterfall. The rocks were rough and somewhat flat, the footholds within stepping distance of each other. If Wirt really wanted to, he could use the route to get down, but the immense height and untested path appeared dangerous, if not impossible to traverse. One of the rocks could fall or he might slip and plummet down the overbearing hillside to a horrible fate or —

Jason’s croak snapped him out of his worrying, but that didn’t stop Wirt from suggesting, “M-maybe we should look for a-another way down. One that isn’t so life-threatening.” Obviously displeased with the teen’s doubt, the frog wriggled out of Wirt’s hold once more and started quickly down the rock staircase before the boy could snatch him back. The gnome-dressed boy stood motionless at the top, too afraid to follow.  _ Jason’s not really leaving, _ he attempted to reassure himself, keeping a close eye on the green figure as it continued to descend.  _ He’ll come back once he realizes I’m not following. _ Jason kept going, not slowing a bit.  _ Right? _ Nope.

Wirt tried to step onto the first rock with one of his mismatched shoes and staggered back when it triggered a handful of pebbles to tumble into nothingness. “G-greg doesn’t really need that frog anyway. I-I’ll get him a bunny instead,” he attempted. “Y-yeah! A bunny!”

Wirt almost settled with that idea, when he heard Greg mumble in his sleep what sounded like a laugh. It was the first time he heard his brother laugh since the day before they met the Beast. Wirt frowned in guilt. “No, Greg would be heartbroken if anything happened to that frog.” Gathering more courage than he ever thought was possible, Wirt stepped fully on top of the first rock, faintly surprised when it stayed firmly into the cliffside.

“Alright, world,” he averred epically, holding Greg as tight as he could and leaning on the tall expanse of rock and dirt for support, “I’m coming down.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

The first dozen rocks didn’t give him any trouble at all and the fifteen year-old was becoming confident that the path would do in getting him and his brother to the ground without issue. That was the case, until he slipped. Wirt screamed in terror as his foot slid off of the ledge, his free hand grabbing furiously at the cliff for a handhold. His fingers missed the jutting rock by a mere centimeter, and he fell forward, his stomach doing flip-flops.  _ No, no, no, no, no! _ He felt his other foot slip and for a split second the two brothers were free falling, down, down, down, down.

At least, that was how it felt.

Wirt’s breath was knocked out of him as he crashed into something hard as he and his brother suddenly came to a stop. Feeling a searing pain in the side of his face, as well as his right hand, which he used to break his fall, Wirt opened his eyes. In his blind terror, Wirt failed to notice the sole tree that stood on one of the middle sections of the cliff. Wirt was wedged between two branches, his brother still safely on his back. The teen’s cheek and dominant hand were scraped up pretty badly, but both him and his brother were still in one piece and nothing was broken, so Wirt hadn’t anything to complain about.

Slowly edging his way slowly down the tree with only the use of one hand and his legs, Wirt was able to reach the rock face again. Noticing that his fall had cleared only five boulders’ length, Wirt felt a fresh wave of fear crash down on him.  _ There’s no hope. I’ll never make it.  _ The teen froze up, gazing down into the perilous depths below. Very far down, a small green speck could be seen under the moonlight, skipping from one rock to another effortlessly.

“Oh, Greg. Why does neither a sliver of sunlight escape the umbra of an eclipse, nor do ice cubes float in waves of magma, the sickening malevolence of an empty soul? Cannot the lone wolf stand upon a cliff in peace, howling to Earth’s phosphorescent satellite of his own will?” Wirt calmed his panic with poetry, fixing his half-brother’s position with the back of his bad hand. The position he was in was going to be tricky, but Wirt would just have to be more careful the rest of the way. 

Taking more resolved steps, Wirt inched himself towards the next rock, testing his weight before stepping on it. Sighing in relief that he didn’t fall again, Wirt tried the next boulder, then the next. He continued like this for a while, the constant scooting, experimenting and tiptoeing. It was well into the night before Wirt gained his confidence, striding down the stones with nearly as much surety as Jason Funderburker. 

The tough traipse was taking its toll on the worn and hungry elder brother, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. Perspiration soaked his body, his long coverings plastered onto him as a result. But he was nearly halfway down the cliffside by now and he could feel the mist of the waterfall spraying into the air, adding to the chilled night breeze a way to cool down that he was entirely grateful for. Accustomed to the hard traveling, Wirt got used to keeping balanced without the use of his right hand and that allowed for many of the boulders to be of reach. His scraped cheek wasn’t stinging as much, either.

His eyes scanned the next row of rocks and he chose the one that was more securely fit into the cliffside, leaping squarely on top of it. It dipped under his weight, but he was already on the next one before it could pop out or crack. He endured this constant pace, maintaining it with practiced skill and devotion, all the while checking on the position of Jason Funderburker. After close watch, Wirt noticed the frog hopped on the same stones Wirt did, although a few couple dozen in advance.  _ That clever frog, _ Wirt remarked silently.  _ He’s been leading me all this time. _

Giving up on his own judgement, Wirt hurried along faster than ever, following Jason exactly in where he set his feet. Again and again and again, he advanced on the critter until the frog was only one stone ahead. Both were panting from exhaustion by then, the frog and the human.

Not wanting to startle his companion with an unexpected comment, Wirt stayed silent save for the occasional grunts that left his mouth.

They were nearing the bottom, lingering only fifty feet below. Wirt took in a shaky breath. _ Forty feet. _ Jason almost slipped on a covering of ice on one of the rocks.  _ Thirty feet. _ Wirt felt a sense of achievement at getting this close.  _ Twenty feet. _ Gregory began laughing in his sleep once more.  _ Ten feet. _ Wirt picked Jason Funderberker off of the boulder so the frog could rest on his back.  _ Ground level. _

The second Wirt’s foot touched solid earth, he let out a cry of relief, his muscles aching with the buildup of strain. “Finally,” he thanked, pure giddiness overtaking his senses. “ _Finally._ ” Jason croaked as well, letting out a sigh. It was done. Over six hundred feet of rocky danger and it was finally done.

The waterfall crashed into a pool at the bottom of the cliff, another small stream leading from it into the dark forest. Familiar looking Oak trees mingled their way into the forest below, the milk-light of the moon casting them in a spooky light. Wirt pondered sleeping here for a moment, but a ground-shaking crash behind him broke his train of thought. A couple large boulders that came loose during Wirt’s jumping had rolled down the cliff in a massive landslide, one that could easily crush two boys and their frog. He hated that, but setting up camp that close to the waterfall wasn’t going to be possible. He would have to find somewhere else.

Forcing his limp legs to get a move on, Wirt decided to follow the stream like before, vanishing into the shadow of the forest in search of a clearing.

 

o-o-o-o

 

It wasn’t too long before the seemingly endless stretch of trees began to thin out, revealing to the boy something he never thought he would see again: a mill. And not just any mill. It was the old grist mill — the first place him and his brother came to after meeting the Woodsman in the Unknown.

The wooden building had been rebuilt since Wirt’s last visit, the rooftops covered in a fresh coat of snow. Wirt nearly cried out in glee. Here was a warm place with shelter and probably food too.  _ The Woodsman will let us come in again, right? I’m sure he will,  _ Wirt tried to assure himself as he sped across the stepping stones and onto the other side of the frozen stream. 

“Hey!” Wirt called, waving his arm in the air as he approached. “It’s me, Wirt! I need help! My brother and I, we need help!”

Not a light flickered from inside, the shutters and doors closed tightly. “Are you in there, Woodsman?! Sir?!” Not a sound except the howling of the wind. 

Then without any warning at all, Wirt tripped on his untied shoelaces and fell into one of the mounds of snow, his limbs locking up from the frigid cold and exhaustion.  _ No. I-I was too close to fail. Too close. _ He could only feel his disappointment for a moment before even that faded into numbness, the cold pulling him into its cruel grasp.

His faded sorrows. His faded life.


	5. Reunion

**Chapter 5: Reunion**

 

“Poor boy. I do hope it’s not too late.” A voice roused Wirt from the darkness that engulfed him, a wavering sound that he couldn’t quite distinguish. His head throbbed; the chill from before only partially subsided.

_ Where am I? _ The gnome-dressed teen wondered, his thoughts obscured by the strange pressure on his skull, like something was sitting heavily on it. He tried to move his arms and legs, but that resulted in a terrible pain that made the teen want to cry. Slowly opening his eyes instead, he attempted to make out the face in the blur, only barely succeeding. Although nothing was clear, Wirt thought he could spot a large middle-aged figure bending over him, which he decided was the owner of the voice.

“W-woodsman?” he choked out softly, beginning to feel the warmth trickle back into his body at a slow pace. “I-is that you?”

The unknown person hovering above the boy took a quick breath, a gasp, even. Then, “You  _ are _ awake! What a relief!”

Wirt tried to focus his eyes — and his ears for that matter, but every time he neared determining the being’s identity his headache threw him off. “Mmph . . .” he mumbled, his voice muffled by what he believed to be his navy nurse’s cape, which must’ve covered his head when he fell. “G-greg . . . Wh-where? Woodsman?”

The boy felt a hand rest reassuringly on his stomach from on top of a cotton sheet.  _ I’m laying on a bed,  _ he realized suddenly.  _ Indoors. _ So that wasn’t his cape that was covering his face, after all.

“Your brother is resting in the other room,” came the reply. Wirt tried to sit up once more, but was pushed down again, this time by his rescuer. “You need to get some rest, too. Your brother is in good hands.”

Wirt managed a reluctant nod, his consciousness already fading. There wasn’t much in him to argue. Shutting his eyes again, the immobile boy fell back into his quiet abyss, the sound of a crackling fire caressing him into a dreamless sleep.

 

o-o-o-o

 

When the teen finally arose, the time seemed to have passed significantly — and so had his predicament. Wirt could move his muscles with somewhat bearable soreness and his headache subsided, thankfully. Smiling at that, Wirt sat up fully in bed, rubbing his eyes with his hands to clear them. Once done and his sight regained, Wirt took a curious glance around the room.

The intuitive male immediately recognized the cream-colored wallpaper and large dark-green trim to be the designing choices of the mill-house — now repaired of the damage he had wreaked before. “So that  _ was _ the Woodsman that saved me,” he deducted with surety. “I knew it.” Satisfied with that mystery, Wirt attempted to get out of bed, wincing when he put too much weight on his legs. Apparently they had grown sensitive due to his overexertion the other day.

“Well, I probably won’t be able to travel in this condition,” he sighed disappointedly, moving himself back into his original position. The teen pressed his mouth into a frown and sighed again. No way was he going to be able to carry Gregory after all that. Not a chance.

Deciding not to waste a moment when he could be recovering, Wirt laid down one more time, his wistful eyes set to the ceiling as he watched shadows dance across the surface. He was growing bored when abruptly came a knock at the bedroom door.

Wirt started, and a sharp pain erupted in his arm when he used it to push himself up. He whimpered in discomfort just as the door opened, revealing not the Woodsman — no, the visitor wasn’t a man at all. Wirt’s company was a woman, in fact, with auburn hair tied up and concealed behind a white bonnet. She wore a navy blue jacket and dress with a rather washed-out tone, and her plump cheeks were as freckled and flushed as another girl he knew — Beatrice.

Wirt struggled to find the right words to address this lady, but she beat him to it, already stepping into the room with a porcelain bowl of steaming liquid in her hands.

“I thought I heard noises in here,” she stated, her tone sounding like Wirt was but a child getting caught stealing from the cookie-jar. “How long have you been up?”

“N-not long,” Wirt answered, watching her as she walked over to the bedside and set the soup down on a small desk. He could now see that it was tomato soup, like the kind he used to sip when he was sick at home, except this one was more chunky, pieces of vegetables floating around in an appetizing red broth. The famished teen could hardly take his eyes off it.

“Are you feeling alright?” the woman questioned, sounding genuinely concerned.

Wirt nodded. “Just hungry and sore. I’ve been worse,” he offered, massaging his arms with his hands. “Thank you for helping Greg and me out of the snow. I’m not sure I would have been able to go on any further.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she smiled. “I heard your cries late last night from the mill and came as quickly as I could, but the door became jammed with a piece of wood. When I finally made it out, you, your brother and a frog were passed out near the doorstep. Why ever were you out so late in the night?”

“I-it’s a long story,” he admitted, his mind eager and his stomach empty. “Can I see Gregory now?” 

She seemed to consider it for a while, then suggested, “If you’re feeling well enough, why don’t you take your soup and join the rest of the family in the dining room? My daugher has been talking a lot about you lately. I’d suppose she’d be pleased to see you again. Then after that you might be able to visit your brother.”

“You mean Beatrice? She’s here?” he asked suddenly, his attention off of the food for once.

The former bluebird’s mother nodded, happy that she would be able to satisfy both her daughter and Wirt. “I’ll carry your food for you.”

That was all it took for the fifteen year-old to get himself out of bed, but he encountered the same difficulty standing. Wirt hissed through his teeth, forcing himself to move his feet.  _ I can do it. It’s just from here to the dinner table. _

Beatrice’s mom had the bowl in her hands when she offered with a frown, “Do you need to stay here? You don’t have to walk if you’re not ready.”

“No, I’m fine. Everything’s just . . . really sore.” Determined not to let Beatrice down, Wirt trudged out of the bedroom, thankful that the dining area was near the room he’d occupied. Each footstep was like swimming in a pool of tiny needles. Small amounts of pain, all at once. Again, again, again.

Once Wirt was at the end of the hall, a chorus of joyful noises reached his ears. His mouth quirked up in a smile at all the children running around, playing on the stairs and having a good time. A few older kids sat calmly at the table with a man, all finishing up their supper. And then there was Beatrice.

She stood by the window with a brown and white dog, gazing out into the snow-covered fields with an unreadable expression. Her hair was tied up in the same bun as before, and she wore now a costume like her mother’s, except her arms were bare of any covering. She obviously was immune to the cold.

“Beatrice,” Wirt murmured, standing still in the middle of the hall with a distant look in his eyes. Memories came flooding back, all the times they shared together bringing the boy a ray of saddened delight. He’d thought he would never see her again, but here she was. And so was he.

The girl turned her head in his direction, attuned to the regular mass of white noise, and locked eyes with him. An expression of surprise took her over for a brief second as Wirt took another step closer, the pain forgotten.

It was almost as if she was actually happy to see him. “Wirt!” she exclaimed, turning towards him fully as the dog ran up to one of her many sisters to fight for a toy. 

“Beatrice! I’m so glad to see you! I —” the fragile teen began when he was suddenly smacked across the face. He raised his arm to shield from the possibility of another blow, when Beatrice stepped back, fuming. He was utterly confused at her sudden aggression.

“ _ What _ do you think you’re doing here, Wirt?!” she snapped, her face a bright shade of red. “You’re supposed to be going home! Didn’t I tell you that?”

Wirt just stayed how he was, hurt inside and out. “I-I just thought . . .”

“I don’t care what you think, Wirt! You just can’t keep stalling and you know that!” Beatrice shot him down, her hands on her hips. “If you stay here too long you’ll —”

“I’ll what?” Wirt frowned, becoming angered himself. _I thought she’d be glad to see me, and this is what I get!_ _She just doesn’t like me anymore, does she?_

The redhead drew in a stubborn breath, her fists clenched. She obviously decided it wasn’t worth it and turned away from Wirt, growling, “It doesn’t matter. You need to leave.  _ Now. _ ”

The boy shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m not going without Greg,” he defied her, when Beatrice’s mother passed by him to set the bowl of tomato soup on the table.

The woman then turned, scolding her tempered child, “Beatrice! I will not have you acting this way to your guest! Treat him kindly! He’s unfit for travel and hadn’t had a chance to eat for who know’s how long!”

The girl crossed her arms, not showing her face to either of them. “Fine. But after dinner, he goes. And that’s final.” Without waiting for any repercussions, Beatrice stormed up the far staircase, ignoring her mother’s cries.

The woman let out a snort of distaste. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m to do with her. Always the problem child.”

Wirt didn’t respond. He simply sat down at the table silently, receiving curious glances from the small children and uncomfortable smiles from the older group.

Dinner that day was tasteless and quiet.


	6. Decisions and Choices Galore

**Chapter 6: Decisions and Choices Galore**

 

“Is the weird guy have to leave?” one of Beatrice’s younger brothers asked curiously, standing near the table and pointing at Wirt. “‘Cause Beatrice is mad and he gots slapped by her.”

“Thomas, you know better than to point fingers at guests,” Beatrice’s mother admonished, just beginning to clear the table of dirty plates. She seemed to be the only one who actually wanted Wirt around, and even then it was just out of civic duty. Wirt sighed quietly, downcast. If he were alone, this would’ve been a great time for poetry.

“But he’s  _ weird! _ ” little brown-haired Thomas cried out, increasing the intensity of his pointing. The five year-old even tugged on Wirt’s cape a little. “And he’s got weird blanket on him!”

“ _ Thomas! _ ” his mother reprimanded firmly, frowning. “Leave him alone and go to your room!”

“I  _ can’t _ , Ma,” he protested. “Nancy locked me out earlier so she can play all lonely!” The boy crossed his arms, tearing up. “All lonely, Ma!  _ All lonely! _ ” Without waiting for a reaction, Thomas ran away in the direction of the first-floor hallway, bawling loudly.

Beatrice’s mother’s frown deepened. “There is no order in this household, sometimes.” 

Wirt didn’t have anything to add. He was just . . . not feeling himself today. The woman took the plates to be washed in the kitchen, leaving the gnome-costumed boy sitting at the table. Even Beatrice’s father had already left, obviously not wanting to associate with the unwanted teen. The children had gotten bored of him long ago.

_ Beatrice, why do you want me to go? _ Wirt sulked, his vision cloudy.  _ What have I done to deserve this? Aren’t we friends? Or is that all over now that you’re human?  _ The distraught being pondered, feeling lost. Had Beatrice used him all along? Was she even concerned of his safety? All he knew was that she had some inexplainable need for him to leave the Unknown.  _ Perhaps she has something to hide that she doesn’t want me to find out about. Or maybe she doesn’t feel any need to have me around anymore. Maybe all those times she teased me were hints so I would get out of her life. _ Perchance he simply misunderstood her actions and was reading too much into the situation. He didn’t have any way to know.

“The world is a mysterious place,” a female voice echoed behind him, too young to be Beatrice’s. “If you try too hard to figure it out, you’ll just ruin yourself.”

Figuring that the statement was directed at him, Wirt turned around to see a girl with dark mahogany hair cut to the shoulders. She had a childish face of around twelve years of age and small freckles dotted her cheeks. He recognized her from dinner, although he never received her name. 

Wirt searched for a good reply, but his mind was plagued with his unanswered questions, a whirlpool trapping him from the surface. In the end, all he could think to say was, “I know.”

“Do you really?” the girl interrogated him, her eyes peering into his very soul. “If so, then why do you drown in your sorrows? Why do you dwell on the past? Can you tell me that?”

Wirt blinked, caught off-guard. She was awfully perceptive for someone so inexperienced.

The brunette gave him a knowing smile, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “I’d think not,” she affirmed, pulling up a chair to sit beside Wirt. “But that doesn’t mean you should give up. You have so much ahead of you in your life. Beatrice shouldn’t be the one to decide that for you.”

“You think I should stay?” he asked, wide-eyed. “I thought nobody wanted me here.”

“Oh, they don’t, but that doesn’t mean it can’t change. From what it seems, you’ve taken good care of your brother and his frog, so you’ve got to be someone we could look up to eventually,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“Wait. You’ve seen Greg?” Wirt responded, completely taken by her advice. “Is he awake?”

“Oh, no he’s not,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I just overheard him in his sleep saying something about how much he loves you. It was adorable, really. He has a tiny voice.”

The older brother chuckled softly, finding her comment to be amusing.  _ I’m glad Gregory is okay, _ Wirt smiled, his eyes distant. He felt suddenly inclined to continue on home for his brother, despite his injuries and the weather. Wirt promised that he would take Greg back to their familiar abode and that was just what he would do.

“Yeah, um, I can’t stay here. At least, not long. Greg needs to go home and I don’t think me being around will help anyone. I mean, anyone besides me. And Greg,” the costumed teen explained, trying to stand with relative difficulty. It still hurt to move. A lot.

“You could at least stay until you’re well again,” she protested, standing from her seat abruptly. “There isn’t much of a chance that you’ll make it when you’re this vulnerable.”

Wirt studied the girl’s face, contemplating the possibility. Was there really a chance that he could live here for a while? Or was she only trying to be polite? He decided on the former, not wanting his pessimistic nature to ruin the likelihood of receiving the favorable conditions him and his brother really needed.

“Mmm . . .” The brown-haired teen’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Maybe. Maybe I could, but you’ll have to get Beatrice to agree to it. I don’t want to be a burden if I don’t have to.”

The twelve year-old’s eyes widened. “But I thought I told you that —”

“Beatrice has to agree to our staying here. It isn’t good for either of us to be where we aren’t wanted,” he cut her off firmly, set on the decision. “Okay, uh  . . .”

“Polly.”

“Yeah,” Wirt smiled with a nod, placing the name in his memory so he wouldn’t forget. “Okay, Polly?” 

“Alright then, . . .”

“Wirt.”

Polly grinned as well, her eyes flashing with concession. “Alright, Wirt.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

Wirt found himself alone in front of a gray wooden door, staring at it with an expression somewhere between doubtful and determined. His entire body hurt from walking up the steps unassisted, and he was still not completely sure of what he would say once he knocked.

_ I’m not even sure this is the right door.  _ The teen frowned, considering the dreaded trek back down in favor of a confirmation by Polly or even Beatrice’s mom.  _ But then I’ll have to come all the way back up . . .  _ He cringed. It was better to take his chances with a wrong door.

Taking a deep breath to gather what was left of his courage, Wirt tapped his knuckles against the wood, producing a loud enough noise that anyone inside could hear.

“Uh, it’s me: Wirt,” he announced, waiting for a reaction.

It was silent for a moment, then, “I told you to leave.” Beatrice.

Wirt nearly sighed in relief, but thought to keep himself at the task at hand. “Yeah, well, I talked to your sister and she said it would be best if I stayed for a while. I think so too.”

“Who told you that? Was it Amanda? It was Amanda, wasn’t it?” her voice sounded agitated from Wirt’s side of the hall.

“Amanda?” he questioned, not knowing which of her four sisters she was talking about. “No, Polly told me after dinner. She was pretty convinced of it, too.”

“ _ Polly?! _ ” Beatrice cried out loudly, “That’s  _ worse! _ ” There was a hard thump from her side of the door, followed by a series of ‘ow’s.

_ She probably kicked the wall or something,  _ he observed, glad that there was a barrier between them for the first time since the conversation began.  _ I wonder what makes her so rough and rowdy. She has sisters, after all. _ It was one of the mysteries of the world. Most likely one of which that Polly advised him not to dwell on. So like the obedient little pushover he was, Wirt threw the thought aside, attempting once again not to get distracted.

“Y-you okay?” Wirt asked awkwardly, confused.

“No way am I okay! Polly’s been filling your head with her nonsense! That girl is a manipulator and self-centered daydreamer! She’s just trying to make everything worse!” came the angered reply.

Wirt took a step back in shock. “Polly’s just trying to help, Beatrice. Plus, she’s your sister. You should care about her.”

“Polly's not trying to help you or Gregory, Wirt!” the former bluebird growled. “The only one who has been helping you is me!”

_ What? _ The teen paused, the words sounding like a lie. All Beatrice did was bat him away, shoo him like he was an annoying fly buzzing around her ears. Now she was claiming to have helped him?

“No, Beatrice. You haven't been helping me at all.” he murmured, his eyes dark, plastered on the hard surface in front of him as if it were her standing there instead. “You keep telling me these things, but you never  _ explain. _ You tell me that Adelaide is going to help us get home, but you never told me who she was. You say you were human, but you wait until our last moments before you did. You took us out of our way to go on some quest to our impending doom without letting us have a choice. So if anyone is the self-centered manipulator, it’s you.”

Beatrice let out a choked whimper, “You don’t understand, Wirt. You never understand until it’s too late.”

Wirt felt as if his insides were being crushed, guilt playing its way into his tough comeback. But he wouldn’t back down.

“I can’t take Greg home until I’m well, Beatrice.”

It was the straw that broke the bluebird’s back. “Fine, Wirt,” she answered, her voice soft and broken. “You can have your way. Just leave me alone and go to your room.”

He did.


	7. Foreboding is the Night

**Chapter 7: Foreboding is the Night**

 

_ “Come wayward souls, _

_ who wander through the darkness; _

_ there is a light for the lost and the meek. _

_ Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten _

_ when you submit to the soil of the earth.” _

 

That dreaded song echoed through the Unknown, swirling around the deep shadows with an eerie air. A well-aged man stood within the darkness, his black trench coat the only means to keep out the blistering nighttime wind from freezing him solid. The Woodsman was once again staring solemnly into his iron-cast lantern, doing his best to ignore the morbid singing.

“Oh beloved daughter,” he sighed, his brown eyes reflecting its warm glow. “If only there were a way. If only there were a way . . .”

The man frowned, becoming lost himself in his hopes and dreams. They were but empty wishes, sorrowful memories and a life of regret. The only thing that he could remember doing right was helping his child live on in the fire of continuation that was his work and pain. It might’ve made him feel better if he could see her — like she was before — just once more, but all he had left of his little girl was the lantern. All he had was light.

“ _ Woodsman . . . _ ” whistled the leaf-bare trees, a whisper of the shaded: quiet, subtle, alone. “ _ Woodsman . . . _ ”

The anguished father glanced up at the barren treetops, more afraid than he was alarmed. This was not new. The weightless hush spoke often, sometimes muttering his name and other times telling him of his duties. But always in a manner that poked at his sanity and played with his beliefs.

“What do you want with me, Beast? Can’t you see that this isn’t the time? Can’t you leave a man to his grief?” the Woodsman cried out, shielding the lantern with his arms although the voice could put it out with but a word.

“ _ Woodsman . . . _ ” it shushed, dead leaves wafting into the air. “ _ The lantern . . . it wanes . . . _ ”

The old man took a cautionary look at the item in his hands. He found that the voice was right, familiar with the dying colors of the flame. It needed oil. Edelwood oil.

Without a word, the Woodsman picked up his axe from where he had left it on the ground, walking deeper in the forest in search of the tree. Edelwood had become harder to find in the Unknown due to the lantern’s needs, but they weren’t completely extinct. It only took twenty-four hours for a lost soul to change into one, after all. There would be more in time.

He came upon an Edelwood tree after a while of walking, its large figure blocking the moonlight from spilling out onto the forest floor. Its human face was contorted in an expression of terror and black oil seeped from the bark, a promising sign of happiness for one and misery for another.

The Woodsman grimaced, the tree seeming to give him a glare from within its trunk that paralyzed and incapacitated him. This was the first Edelwood he would be forced to cut down since since he’d learnt of their true origins. It was the knowledge that kept him still, kept him from removing the roots of nourishment and adding it to his own daughter’s supply. Wouldn’t that be wrong? Was it really worth it?

“ _ Woodsman . . . _ ” The voice again beckoned his attention, its tone nothing short of threatening. “ _ The lantern . . . it wanes . . . needs Edelwood . . . _ ” 

The wary man took the warning, knowing that if he waited any longer it’d be too late. Moving forward with little hesitance, the Woodsman raised his axe up to the Edelwood’s trunk, ready to strike. With one last murmur of apology to the trapped soul, the Woodsman forcefully connected metal to wood, the Edelwood unable to fight back. His blows were precise with all the skill of a practiced lumberjack and the tree came crashing down in a short while. Branches and small red leaves scattered about the dirt, some of his precious oil wasted as well. Even the tree’s carved face appeared devastated, all of its luster gone in a second.

“How can I keep doing this?” he lamented, picking a log from the debris to cradle mournfully in his arms. “These lives . . . How could I take these lives?” The Woodsman felt his eyes become watery at the mention.

“ _ Woodsman . . . _ ” whistled the winter breeze again, cold in body and mind. “ _ The lantern . . . it wanes . . . The light . . . will be no more . . . _ ”

The Woodsman let out a trembling sigh, releasing his grip on the branches. There wasn’t any choice. He had to have more oil.  _ She _ had to have more oil. So he labored away, set on his task and dutiful in heart. There was nothing else. Nothing else . . .

 

o-o-o-o

 

The moon was already high in the sky by the time the Woodsman had enough pieces for use, the burden heavier than it used to be. Not only did he have to find a way to grind the Edelwood into oil without the use of the mill, he’d have to find a way to do it without letting his daughter’s flame flicker out.

When Beatrice’s family returned and found him at the old grist mill, the Woodsman allowed them to have their house back without a fight. It wasn’t his and he felt the need to do something good for others in payment for all the pain he’d caused the world. Much was taken but not enough was received. 

Self-loathing conflicted with love, passion with regret. But even that wasn’t enough to drive away the shadows that swarmed his dark landscape. He was truly alone.

“Daughter, I hope you’re happy. I hope you are well. I hope you don’t feel as I, that you don’t forget yourself in this unknown world. Because — if you do — there will be a light. There will be hope.” The Woodsman stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the lantern with lonely eyes. He reminded himself that this was the way the river flowed, that there was still a chance at peace in life. It was what allowed him to drain the oil by hand into the lantern’s base, his axe cutting away the excess wood in the process. Black, thick liquid oozed from the Edelwood, such a deep color of blankness. Of forlornness. Of nothing.

Of course then was the perfect time for a voice to sing, the perfect time to taunt a man in his sorrow. The wind picked up speed, the swirling mass of malevolence and greed heavy in the air as the ominous melody rang out into the night.

 

_ “Chop the wood to light the fire.  _

_ Grind them and it’ll not be dire.  _

_ A simple vial of oil so small,  _

_ hardly worth the effort at all.  _

_ But ‘keep me lit’ the lantern sings, _

_ ‘do so and certainty it brings’.  _

_ A life preserved within a shell, _

_ always here to always dwell.” _

  
  



	8. Call It Weird

**Chapter 8: Call It Weird**

 

“See?” tiny troublemaking Tom clarified, standing at the doorway of Greg’s room with a surrounding cluster of the younger portion of Beatrice’s family. “I  _ told _ you the weird guy is weird. That’s why he wear weird blanket and big red carrot hat.”

“And his brother’s got a kettle on his head,” a male of around seven with deep brown hair mused, standing tall above the others. “That’s a little weird.”

“No, Victor,” a small girl with amber braids frowned, pushing her brother aside to take a peek at Gregory. “It’s not weird!  _ You’re _ weird! I  _ like _ kettles!”

“Not on people, you don’t. It’s not something we wear,” Victor responded factually to the six year-old, making a face. “And it looks strange.”

“Does  _ not! _ ” his sister rebuked, puffing up her cheeks and crossing her arms.

“Yes, it does, Nancy! Do I have to prove it to you?” he frowned, about to march straight into the room and put the teapot on himself. 

Victor’s twin brother blocked him from entering, though, his peach limbs acting as a shield. “Hold it, Vic! Ma told us not to bother our guests or she’ll have us punished. Do you  _ really _ want to take that chance to prove a point? We’ll be doing extra chores for months!”

Victor grunted, but backed down.  _ No one _ liked doing extra chores as a punishment. Those fit for misbehaving children were usually the worst out of the pile. “Fine, Joseph. I won’t take the kettle.”

“Sure?” the boy asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Yeah, whatever.” came the non-committed reply.

Joseph stepped out of the way despite his brother’s lack of enthusiasm, freeing the doorway as a window. Beatrice’s present siblings all pushed forward to stare at Wirt and Greg again, the blockade of tall brothers no longer an issue. 

The bedroom was small and held only a single twin-sized bed and a small wooden table accessorized with a couple of kiddie chairs. The tea-kettled boy — Gregory — laid in the bed, his face pale and small rings under his closed lids. Beside him sat his older brother Wirt, who was bent over in his seat, fast asleep. Likewise, it was morning, and the amature poet had obviously dozed off while visiting his brother late last night.

Nancy giggled. “Weird Guy snores like Daddy.” Her comment produced a chorus of laughter from the group.

“I-I can’t believe Big Sis talked about Weird Guy so much in the before,” Thomas cracked up, his voice muffled by his chortles. “He’s too  _ weird _ for being a talk-about.” Cackling mirth soon followed, filling the hall with muffled tittering.

Sadly enough, their brief escapade rapidly came to a close when Beatrice found them all blocking the doorway, a displeased frown on her face. Thomas immediately excused himself, taking off in the opposite direction in apparent fear, knowing all too well that the look she was giving them meant trouble. Everyone else was rooted to the spot.

“What were you talking about just now?” she started in a penetrating voice, her eyes following Tom as he bolted away on his little five-year-old legs. The redhead didn’t pursue her youngest brother, too occupied with her group of snoopers. She'd get him for it later.

Nancy — being the smallest and most naive — perked up, attempting to slide them by any consequences from her eldest. “We were trying to see how funny Weird Guy and Teapot Hat were, so they told us a funny. I mean, joke. They told us a joke.”

Beatrice frowned, “You expect me to believe that two sleeping boys told you a joke?”

“Uh, yes.” Victor attempted, faking a laugh and hitting his twin in the side with his elbow. Joseph began to chuckle nervously on instinct, allowing him to become an accomplice to Victor’s lying.

She didn’t buy it, though. “You expect me to believe that  _ Wirt _ made you laugh?”

Victor nodded, wiping his already clammy hands on his pants, “T-the joke was really funny, right guys?”

“Especially,” Nancy agreed, her eyes wide. “ _ Absolutely. _ ” 

Joseph only continued to laugh in the background.

Their oldest sister sent them a menacing glare. “Whatever. I’m in a hurry, so just be quiet and stop blocking the hall.”

“You mean, we’re still alive?” Victor asked, astonished.

“Stay there any longer and I’ll change my mind about that,” Beatrice warned, Nancy and Joseph already scooting away.

That was all it took to clear the area, her brothers and sister out of sight. The fifteen year-old sighed, although relief wasn’t the cause. Not wanting to stand uselessly in the doorway, Beatrice entered the room, not surprised to see Wirt there after her siblings made that show of evading her impending wrath. She let out a breath of relief, thankful that the ruckus hadn’t woke either of them. Or so she thought.

Wirt’s eyes suddenly flickered under his illusion of being asleep, opening them knowingly to stare at Beatrice. He had been awake the entire time she was there, listening to the conversations outside Greg’s door to gather information about the family without having to ask. Obviously, a group of small children wouldn’t provide for much, but at least he was aware of how they saw him.

“Am I really a weird guy, Beatrice?” Wirt asked calmly, surprising her.

“Er, yes, sort of,” the girl answered, caught off guard. She assumed he was just about to say something more meaningful after their recent quarrel, so his question seemed out of the ordinary.

“Hm,” the teen mumbled distantly. “Okay.”

Beatrice frowned, not sure what to say at seeing Wirt in that state. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad when she’d said all those things, but she wasn’t exactly happy with him, either.

Wirt broke their gaze, his attention already lost to his brother. From how Wirt was acting, Beatrice couldn’t tell what was going through his head at that moment, but whatever it was, it brought a strange discomfort coursing through her body. It wouldn’t help to dwell on it, though, so she’d best be off saying what she had meant to have said the second she came in. 

“Wirt, there’s something I need to tell you,” Beatrice began, although her tone suggested that it wasn’t going to be an apology. Wirt opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “And it has nothing to do with you leaving right now, so I suggest you listen.”

The costumed male glanced back at her, giving her a peculiar look. He didn’t offer up anything else besides that, quiet and listening.

Beatrice did not bother to smile. “I was afraid I’d have to tell you this, Wirt, but I guess there isn’t much choice anymore. I know you haven’t forgotten what we’ve been through together, which means you also haven’t forgotten about the Beast. That day when you bested him we both thought that we would not have to worry about the Beast anymore. We thought that everything would be fine once we set Greg free. Well, I’m sorry to say that I don’t know what happened after we said our goodbyes, but I  _ do _ know that saving your brother hasn’t helped solve anything around here. The forest is still dark and somber, and sometimes, if I really listen late in the night, I think I can hear faint fragments of his song echoing through the trees. For all I know, the Beast could still be out there, haunting the woods, trying to find you and seek revenge for nearly blowing out the lantern. If the Beast is still in the Unknown — and I’m sure he is — he won’t have any trouble taking from you what he tried to before.”

“Greg. You think he’ll try and take Greg,” Wirt deducted, appearing afraid. “That’s why you  wanted me to go home so urgently. You thought that if we waited to long, he’d find us again.”

“Well, that’s one of the reasons,” Beatrice sighed, watching him as he absentmindedly picked at the large scab on his right palm. Wirt never told her how he got that, or the one on his face. But this wasn’t the time.

“ _ One _ of the reasons?” the brown-haired boy asked, tilting his head. “There are more?”

“Of course there are more!” the former bluebird retorted, flinging her arms out wide. “What did you think, Wirt — that I decided that I didn’t want to have to see your face around after you  _ finally _ left? That’s just ridiculous!”

Wirt put on a sheepish grin. “Y-yeah. Yeah. That’s definitely not . . . definitely not what I was thinking. Definitely.”

“Wow, Wirt,” Beatrice remarked, her expression either amused or annoyed. “You’re terrible at lying  _ and _ having faith in your friends. I’ll be sure to nominate you for being the best tactful peacemaker in all of history. You’ll make the title for certain if you keep that up.”

Wirt frowned softly, slightly irritated by her face-rubbing, but he soon moved away from it. “So, that means you don’t hate me, right?”

“Yes, Wirt. I don’t hate you,” she clarified, her mouth quirking into a smirk. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not weird.”    

“Thanks for raising my spirits, Beatrice,” the gnome-dressed boy replied flatly, although he had a large smile on his face. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, friend. Anytime.”


	9. Frozen Harmony

**Chapter 9: Frozen Harmony**

 

The front door opened to the teen, revealing an icy world he would have thought to be beautiful, if it hadn’t been for the events in the snow days before. Barren treetops were covered in fresh flakes, their lonely branches harboring rows upon rows of crystallized icicles. A stream flowed slowly through the small clearing, its path broken by large chunks of frozen water. All and all, the entire picture bore a strong resemblance to the middle of winter, down to the cold air that whipped its way into Beatrice’s house and across the frosty scene ahead.

“I was sure that I felt spring coming soon,” Wirt muttered, stepping out into the mill-house’s front porch and tightening his cape around himself to act as — well — a blanket. “I guess that was weird of me to think that winter could be over so quickly. It had only lasted a few days, after all.”

Beatrice stood beside him after she closed the door to her house, not even a goosebump on her revealed arms. The poorly-dressed girl glanced over into the forest with calm indifference, taking in the view in silence. 

Wirt watched her contentedly, taking in her expression as a silent answer to his questions. For a while there was nothing but a blankness on her face as she observed the brittle land, from the slick rocks to the smothered grass. As if some invisible force had been tugging at her hope, her mouth slowly dipped into a frown, her unease shining like a beacon on a night of a full-moon.

_ I’m guessing this isn’t normal?  _ Wirt blinked, the chill of the outside world already seeping through his cape and penetrating the warmth of his body. He huddled into a smaller ball, hunched over slightly to keep his heat concentrated. The memory of his fateful fall into the blistering snow left a mark on the teen and the very mention of the cold sent shivers up his spine.  _ Why must it be so cold? So . . . so c-cold . . . _

“Wirt.  _ Wirt, _ ” Beatrice called, concern edging her features as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, if we need to go back inside, we can. You’re the same awesome weirdo whether you can handle being outside or not.” 

Wirt shuddered, attempting to smile through the building fog that swirled from them after each breath. “I-I’m fine, Beatrice. At least I’m not that sore anymore compared to yesterday. Besides, I need to be out here anyway because I’ll have to start traveling again soon. It would be best if —” Wirt’s sentence came to a sudden halt; the gnome-dressed boy found himself in a fit of hacking coughs, the dry, polar air sucking the moisture from his lungs like a sponge dipped in water. His nose was a bright shade of pink, his cheeks flushed and his skin pale. It almost appeared as if he’d come down with a cold.

“Oh no, I knew it,” Beatrice frowned as his cough subsided. “Wirt, we’re going back in the house. Right now.” Not giving him any chance to fully recover, the former bluebird grabbed ahold of one of his skinny arms and tugged him forcefully back the way they’d came, not bothering to be gentle in the action.

Wirt hissed when her pull upset the lingering tenderness in his muscles, but before he could say anything they were already inside, the front door shut securely behind them.

“Hey! Ow,” the fifteen year-old grimaced, clutching his arm that had just been released from her merciless talons. “You could’ve at least been easier with me, you know. That hurt.”

“You were having a seizure out there, Wirt,” she replied bluntly, shaking her head. “You can’t expect me to just stand there and wait until you’re ready to be let in. And there's no point in pulling you if I’m going to do it softly. You might as well walk on your own.”

_ Ah, Beatrice. Stubborn as usual,  _ Wirt remarked to himself, sighing.  _ I guess there isn’t any point in arguing with her. That never turns out well. _

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gave in, already feeling heat trickling into him. “I feel better now anyway.”

“You’d better,” Beatrice countered. “I don’t know what I’d do if you got sick. That would probably stick you in the Unknown for much longer than would be safe.”

_ Maybe, but at least I would have more time to spend here, where I’m cared about.  _ Wirt huffed quietly, the comeback he had planned on expressing stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say something so half-hearted to her, especially since she would most likely try and dissuade him of his comment’s correctness. Wirt already had enough trouble as it was.  _ I think I should change the topic. Beatrice might even forget about me leaving and all . . . _ The thought brought a smile to his face.

“So, um,” Wirt attempted, clearing his throat briefly before continuing. “You uh . . . You see anything interesting out there? In the . . . In the snow?”

The lightly-dressed redhead glared at him for a moment, her eyes suspicious. The boy chuckled nervously. There was no hiding anything from her. Even a thought.

But luckily, despite her scepticism, she allowed Wirt to slip by the potential of an altercation and answered his question with as much honesty as she could muster, “No, Wirt. I didn’t see anything. Nothing besides snow and ice.”

_ Nothing at all . . . _ The fake gnome pondered her statement thoroughly, feeling as though some element were missing.  _ Really? Hmm. I don’t see the need for her to be so forlorn unless there’s a reason. This is Beatrice. She _ always  _ has a reason. _ Wirt sighed, a solution to his problem seeming just out of reach.

“Can I ask you something?”

Wirt snapped out of his intellectual daze, nodding.

The girl took a second to begin, but her query was firm. “Have you heard of such a thing as an everlasting winter from where you’re from?”

“An . . . everlasting winter?” he repeated, confounded by the prospect. “Never heard of it.”  _ An everlasting winter . . .  _ The idea of one existing frightened him. How would he ever be able to go outside again? Would he be stuck for the rest of his life in Beatrice’s homestead, never again to see the sunny sky or feel the tranquility of a mid-summer’s breeze?  _ Impossible. _

“Huh,” she remarked, casting a quick glance out the window. “Well, here in the Unknown we’ve listened to a certain story that’s passed down through the family and told to everyone who isn’t deaf. I’ve always thought that it was just a legend, a myth, but now I’m starting to wonder. But I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Especially since the tale is so common here. Maybe it just applies to the Unknown. Or maybe I’m just being a worrywart.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re talking about. What’s the story?” he requested, curiosity and seriousness waging a war on his face. “Could you or someone else tell me?”

“I’d normally have my mom do it, but since it’s sort of long, I’ll just give you the short version,” Beatrice explained. “Once long ago in the Unknown there lived a king and a queen. They wanted the best for the citizens of the forest, although in different ways. The queen offered peace and harmony, but the king disagreed with her actions once the people began to become naive and weak. He argued that they needed someone to show them how to be strong and fearless. Despite that, the queen ignored his pleas. The king decided to do something about it anyway and hired a pair of enchantresses — sisters, tasking them to create a magical being so great that it would strike fear in the hearts of his subjects and drive them into vigilance and courageousness.

“The two sisters became known as the Witches of the Unknown, named purely off of their secretive nature. They tested their dark magic on animals of every sort, but the animals of the forest were all somehow resistant. All except the black turtles, although they had little knowledge of their transformation. Believing that they weren’t affected, the Witches of the Unknown brought the turtles along with the other unresponsive animals to the king and queen’s palace as some of the creatures were tainted with scars or ailments that could be harmful if let free. The king thanked them as usual and the sisters left the palace to continue the search for their monster. Little did they know, the king planned on eating the animals that were given to him by the witches so that they would not suffer and their nourishment would not be wasted to the earth.

“The queen and king were having their meal of mixed meats, when the black turtle from before was served on a plate before the king. Not knowing what he risked, the king ate it in a single bite, which was unruly for someone of great status, and became to transform in front of the queen’s very eyes. He became a form of darkness, a symbol of greed and evil, and left her to rule the kingdom alone, intent on escaping into the forest.

“Afterwards, the Unknown began to grow cold and unwelcoming. Villages suffered. Crops failed. And all the queen could do was wait in her palace, alone and unable to do anything. The king had his beast, but that was what he became. The Beast of the Unknown. One of the two witches rejoiced in her success and decided to follow the Beast, whereas the other saw her wrongs and wished to grant help to the queen, feeling that her rule was the one most worthy of such a grand land.

“Stuff happened, la la la, and eventually the queen was allowed the power to undo the former king’s actions with her own, one at a time with the help of a soul and the feelings of happiness. She found a way to bring back the summer of the Unknown, but the Beast retaliated with his own cold flurry. Therefore winter and summer fought to keep their grasp on the forest, resulting in an autumn and spring of nearly everlasting length. They say that the queen and king still fight today, and the seasons are always at risk of breaking and delving us into a winter that lasts forever.”

“Wow,” Wirt breathed, astonished. “That’s kinda . . . Woah.” The story was still long, but it was immensely interesting.

Beatrice nodded. “I’m afraid that’s just what happened. Winter and summer never last long. Sometimes, it’s but a day. This is new. This is a reminder.”

“What do we do? Do you think the queen’s finally broken?” he gasped, all of it clicking in his head. “Is winter going to last forever this time?”

“I don’t know, Wirt,” she replied softly, her eyes distant. “I really don’t know.”


	10. Past Twists and Turmoil

**Chapter 10: Past Twists and Turmoil**

 

When Wirt arrived back at Greg’s room later that day he found Jason Funderburker curled up next to his younger brother, fast asleep. The sight of them resting with such tranquility brought a sad smile to the older boy’s lips, knowing just how much was in his hands. Not only did he risk himself by staying, Gregory and his precious frog’s well-being were at stake as well.

The teen sighed as he stepped closer to them. _Fate can be so unfair sometimes._ _But no one can change their fate, can they?_ Wirt left the question unanswered, although it gave him a spark of hope. Only a spark.

The gnome-dressed boy was now standing directly at Greg’s bedside, the chair he had sat in earlier unconsciously forgotten. His brother’s plump form appeared so small and fragile under the bedsheets, like a newborn bunny trying to crawl to his mother’s side. It was as if every movement Wirt made could send Greg permanently into the depths of his mind’s world, wherever that may be.

_ I hope he’s happy, if he’s still in there. At least Greg doesn’t have to feel a millennium's worth of apprehension for what could happen or have the strain of those who worry about a future of darkness and being choked by the brambles of despair, _ Wirt mused solemnly, downcast.  _ I suppose this is why the Woodsman kept the lantern lit for so long, thinking that it could save his daughter. I now understand his pain; it has become mine. _

“Dearest brother,” Wirt began softly, melancholy weighing his words down, “if you can hear me, I want you to know that the world is not only covered in snow. There are friends who care where we go and nevertheless the wind will blow. I feel lost and awful slow but still hope you have no woe. Your songs have filled my heart long ago, now I wonder if it’s all a show. To you I’ve come to say ‘hello’, to you the sun gives its golden glow. Please hear me out as I bestow, to you, Greg, and it can never overflow.” 

The gnome-dressed boy stifled a sob, his vision blurred by unshed tears.  _ I wrote that for you, Greg. I even made it rhyme. Won’t you just wake up for me now? Can’t you spread your sunshine into my life once more? _ Wirt clenched his fists by his side, enduring the torture that his compassion had brought down upon him.  _ There will be nothing except the cold from now on. There is no one else for me to turn to when I need warmth. No one I can stay with, no one who can help me. I wish it could be different. I wish the Unknown was safe. I wish I could get Beatrice to come with us when we go home. I wish this whole mess weren’t my fault. _

The older boy lost himself to his sorrows, the ripping agony of his regret tearing into his soul. Liquid misery poured from his eyes in large amounts, his barrier of willpower unable to suppress its force. The heartache was unbearable. The shock. The suffering. The distress. His tribulation could not be eased by any amount of sympathizing, as one might find if they tried to walk in on his moment, for he was engulfed too deeply in his inner grief. In his eyes everything was at a standstill apart from his own thoughts and the light breathing of his brother.

“G-greg . . . Greg . . .” Wirt sobbed, letting the tears trickle down his face. “G-greg . . . I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .” He was trembling madly, his muscles weak from the stress and pain. Soon he found himself leaning on Greg’s bed, his weeping head propped up by his elbows, face buried in his hands. “I’m so sorry . . .”

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Wirt. Get up, Wirt,” Beatrice’s voice echoed above him and Wirt distantly felt a hand shove him lightly in the back. “Stop sulking and stand up, you big pushover!”

The brown-haired teen lifted his head slowly, looking up at her with swollen eyes. He had cried until his tears had run out and his hyperventilating prevented him from getting the oxygen he needed to breathe. For the longest time he had bent down on Greg’s bed and moped silently, the comfort of his brother’s presence his only meaning of existence. Then Beatrice came and disturbed his brooding mood, alerting him of his surroundings once more.

“Stand up, Wirt.”

It took another push for him to gather enough energy to move, but Wirt managed to stand on shaky legs. Everything felt empty inside. All feeling had drained out of him as his tears did; his mind was now blank and thoughtless save for a thick and heavy emotion that encompassed every sound and sight.

Beatrice frowned, her gaze searching his. He simply stared back without uttering a word, finding the need to wipe his face with his sleeve although the wetness was long-gone, dried up like the rest of his happiness.

“Are you alright now, Wirt?” she asked more softly, kindness peeking past her regularly rude demeanor. “You okay?”

Am _ I okay? _ Wirt questioned himself.  _ Or am I only a burden? A useless, incapable hinderance that carries with it the heaviness of discomfort? Is there nothing more I can do for others, nothing more that I can do for myself? Am I but a leaf floating in the autumn winds, destined to be taken where the land desires? Can I not have a choice in life? Can I not fulfil my own promise to help those who deserve it? Because without that privilege, I am no one. I am nothing. _

If there were any tears left in the boy, he would cry, but Wirt’s previous scene deprived him of such a grandeur opportunity. Instead, he was left whimpering in front of the young lady, the cracked sound lacking volume. No, he was definitely  _ not _ okay, and it didn’t take much for Beatrice to see it.

Without a word of consolation or even a murmuring of pity, Wirt was taken up into his friend’s arms and pulled into an embrace full of compassion and warmth. There wasn’t time for the fifteen year-old boy to feel surprise or embarrassment, for his disquietness had already begun to fade in the serenity of it all. He begun to feel appreciated again; he felt the firm hold of cherishment caress him once more. The enormity of his sentiment was worth a flow of tears in itself.

As if the moment of relief would end at any second, Wirt returned the hug, biting back the sorrows that for some reason made a move to return. He tightened his grip around her and soon it all faded away, until there was but a silence in the room.

It gave him a chance to think.

_ Wait . . .  _ Wirt realized with wide eyes, stiffening suddenly.  _ Am I actually — _

“Hey. You can get off of me, you know.” Beatrice interrupted his reflection and the mortified teen jumped away abruptly, releasing his hold on her.  

Wirt’s face was bright red as he fought to recapture his dignity, “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . uh . . . it’s not that . . .”

The former bluebird smirked lightly, finding amusement in how flustered he was. “It doesn’t matter, Wirt,” she told him, causing the male to stop stammering. “I got you back to normal, didn’t I?” 

“Well, I guess,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.  _ Wow. I can’t believe I seriously did that . . . Great job, Wirt. That was amazing. She’s probably going to think I’m a weirdo for the rest of her life. _

Beatrice nonchalantly rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?” he huffed, just now noticing the green amphibian staring at them intelligently from on top of Greg’s bed.  _ Jason probably saw the entire thing . . . _ Wirt realized with a blush.  _ Well. Not much to do about a frog, is there? _

“Whatever, Wirt,” the red-haired girl answered, playfully punching his arm. “Just come on and stop sulking in here. Greg will wake up when he’s ready.”

The brown-haired teen gave in with a sigh. “You’re right, Beatrice. I suppose it wouldn’t do much good if I spent all of my time waiting, anyway.”

“Now you get it,” she praised, hitting him hard in the same spot. “Just remember that and you’ll never waste time again.”

The gnome-dressed male involuntarily flinched at her attack, letting out a cry of protest. “Beatrice! Could you  _ please _ stop clubbing me?” Wirt yelped, taking a few steps away from her. “Please? I have soft arms.” 

“‘Soft arms’, huh?” his friend snickered, watching Wirt’s face turn a bright shade of red — for probably the thousandth time that evening. “Yeah, sure. I’ll stop for now if you’ll come to dinner. You already missed lunch.”

“D-dinner? How long was I here?”

“Long enough,” she shrugged. “Are you coming or not? I think we’re having potatoes again.”

“I’m coming.” With one last glance at his sleeping brother, the boy headed out to his meal with Beatrice and her family, a thoughtful expression on his face.

He decided that if the endless winter did come and stick them indoors he wouldn’t have any problem with it. Because with that came an opportunity that wasn’t there before. With it came a newfound sense of pride and hope. 

_ And all I need now is Greg . . . _ Wirt smirked, following Beatrice down the hall.  _ Let the storm rage on . . . _


	11. Potatoes Without Molasses

**Chapter 11: Potatoes Without Molasses**

 

“Thanks again for letting me stay here, ma’am,” Wirt smiled softly, his eyes scanning the rest of Beatrice’s family. Everyone seemed much happier after him and Beatrice made up. Even the dog was content, curled up peacefully near the crackling fire, dark orbs set comfortably upon the group.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to have you, dear,” the woman replied, setting a bowl of creamy butter on the table. “Does anyone want any butter for their potatoes?”

“Ooh! Me! I want some!” a chubby, mahogany-haired boy of around nine answered, arms already stretched out to receive the topping. He took it gratefully from his mother, immediately scooping a generous amount and plopping it onto his plate.

“Hey! Lawrence,” an older male piped up from the opposite side, his voice smooth with a tone in the mid-ranges. “Save some for the rest of us, will ya’? We want butter, too.”

“I  _ am _ saving you some,” he retorted, giving himself another heaping portion of the yellow goodness. “After I get mine.”

“No, Caleb’s right,” a girl slightly smaller than Beatrice frowned, causing her twin brother’s eyes to widen. Wirt guessed that she didn’t usually side with Caleb on normal occasions. “There’s not going to be any left for us if you take it all.”

Lawrence sighed, putting the bowl back on the table. Nearly half of it was gone. “Fine, Amanda. It’s not like I want any more, anyway.”

The girl grunted in annoyance, but didn’t say anything under her mother’s forceful glare. Butter wasn’t worth punishment, no matter how great it tasted.

“The potatoes are decent as they are,” Wirt offered weakly, trying his best to act sure of himself. “We should . . .  just eat them . . . by themselves . . .”

Beatrice, who was sitting beside him, chuckled to herself at Wirt’s attempt at peace. Most of the other children laughed as well, although a boy roughly older than Greg let loose a flurry of thoughtless giggles. Even the parents had a small smile on their aging faces.

_ What is it? Am I missing something? _ The gnome-dressed teen frowned, an embarrassed blush creeping onto his faded cheeks.  _ Is it my voice? Oh, wow, I really hope it isn’t my voice. _ He’d been laughed at at school for that before, and it definitely didn’t help to improve his ego.

It was a while before most everyone regained their composure, except for the nameless boy from earlier, who was pounding his fist against the table, crying from pure amusement. Even he had to stop sometime and after a while of awkwardness, the room was finally as silent as it would get, save for the content whisperings of the outside wind and the fireplace’s warming sound.

_ I-is someone gonna explain this to me? _ Wirt blinked, feeling tiny in his chair.  _ Anyone? _

Polly eventually said something, although there was still a heavy trace of her previous entertainment in her voice, “Wirt, these potatoes are undoubtedly bland and sometimes taste like soil without anything to cover them up. We grow our own in the summer, so they’re some of the only things to eat during winter. Even if you like unseasoned and boiled vegetables, you’d get sick and tired of them after a while. Butter is quite the delicacy with that sort of a meal.”

_ It was an inside-joke. Thank goodness, _ the mortified teen observed, relieved beyond measure.

“That’s why we call it dirt, sweetie,” the group’s mother told him. “Now, I’ll go get more butter. Children, please behave at the table. And Lawrence, don’t use so much of it next time.”

“Yes, mom.” The boy dipped his head, beginning to eat. His father gave him a reassuring pat on the back, which put a smile on Lawrence’s face once more.

By the time Beatrice’s mother had gone, a calm came over the family and their guest. They began to talk more freely, each kid having their own conversation with another, their father interjecting a comment now and then. It made Wirt grin.  _ This _ was how a family needed to act around each other, comfortable and happy to be in the presence of their parents, brothers and sisters.

“So,” Wirt began, testing the contents of his plate with the tip of his fork, “you never actually introduced me to your family, Beatrice.” He gave the girl beside him a curious glance, watching as she rolled her eyes at his statement.

“Can’t you introduce yourself? I’d believe after that whole episode yesterday you wouldn’t have any trouble at all getting your name known,” the former bluebird poked fun at him. “Besides, I thought you knew everyone already.”

“I mean, I know Polly and I think I remember the names of your other sisters and brothers, but it slipped my mind,” he replied sheepishly.

“Do I really have to waste my time telling you all this?”

“You don’t  _ have _ to; I was just curious,” he shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be having regular talks with any of them. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She seemed to consider it for a moment, then said, “Alright, whatever. But I’m just giving you their names.” Beatrice pointed at Polly, then at Thomas, Caleb, Amanda, and so on, stating their first names at each gesture. Wirt learned that the boy who had laughed so outwardly at his ignorance went by Gideon, and that Beatrice had another two year-old sister named Caroline who was sleeping at the instant. Everyone else he’d recalled hearing from before in the couple of days that he’d spent at the mill.

“Your family is really big, Beatrice,” he remarked, taking some butter and spreading it over his dinner. “I just have Greg and my mom and stepdad.”

“Doesn’t that get kinda lonely?” she asked half-heartedly, stuffing a chunk of potato in her mouth.

“Well, not really,” he admitted with a shrug. “I sort of like being by myself.”

“With no other people to talk to besides your family? No friends? Besides that Sara girl, I mean,” Beatrice questioned, glaring at an unknown target in the air. “How can you live like that?”

“I just do, I guess,” Wirt answered, taking a bite. “And besides, I don’t think Sara’s my friend anyway. Not after what happened. She probably thinks I’m a loser. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she was laughing at me right now from her place far, far away from here.” 

He regretted making that mixtape for her on Halloween night. It didn’t go how he had wanted it to. Not at all.

“Wirt, hate to break it to you, but you  _ are _ a loser,” Beatrice confirmed, a smirk on her face. “Just in a really awesome sort of way. It’s not your problem if she wants to laugh; people who carelessly make fun of others are much worse losers than you could ever be.”

“Hm. I suppose so,” he replied, eyes distant. Was she telling the truth? Had he had it all backwards all along? Or was she just trying to see how gullible he was? It wouldn’t be too far from what she did before with Adelaide . . . He shook the thought away.  _ No. No, I can trust Beatrice. We’re friends. _

The redhead opened her mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it, turning her attention to her plate. It was starting to get uncomfortable for the both of them. Better to just keep quiet so nothing wrong is said, right?  _ At least she isn't laughing. That’s a good sign. _

A yell from Gideon broke the teen from his train of thought. The light-haired boy jumped from his chair and pointed towards the hallway excitedly, as if to alert someone of something. Wirt turned his head to see what the commotion was about and spotted Jason Funderburker flailing madly, his long frog tongue wriggling this way and that.

_ What in the —  _ Wirt frowned, pushing himself up from his seat and making his way over to Greg’s pet. Beatrice and a couple of her siblings got up as well, crowding curiously around the amphibian, who was still in a state of shock.

“What’s wrong, fella?” Wirt asked soothingly, reaching down to touch it, flinching when it flung away from his hand. He lifted an eyebrow, watching as the frog beckoned him back the way it had come.

“Wirt,” Beatrice tapped his shoulder, her eyes pinned on Jason as well. “What if it’s Greg?”

The male took in a quick breath, fear shooting through him.  _ Oh, no! Something terrible must’ve happened to Greg. _ Without a word, he took off, sprinting past the frog and pushing everyone else out of the way to get to the room.  _ Please, please, please don’t let it be too late! _


	12. Brotherly Love

**Chapter 12: Brotherly Love**

 

Wirt rushed into the small bedroom, his eyes wide with worry. The terrified brother scanned the area for the cause of the commotion, finally resting on his sibling, who was completely covered by the sheets. The young form was but a simple and unmoving shape in the bed. Wirt’s heart dropped in his chest, the realization of what must’ve happened registering in his mind, cold and foreboding.

“Greg . . .” he whispered, the name escaping his lips as he moved forward, closer to the seven year-old. “Oh, Greg, please be okay. Please don’t do this too me.  _ Please. _ ” He set his hand upon the boy, feeling a receding warmth from beneath the covers.  _ No, no, no. You’ve got to wake up. Wake up for me now, Greg. Don’t go. _ Wirt’s breath caught in his throat, his thoughts causing him to tear up once more. Not wanting to waste his last shreds of hope, the teen tugged the covers back to reveal Gregory’s face.

He breathed a sigh of relief, letting a smile spread across his features. Greg’s cheeks were slightly pink, and his skin color was beginning to turn back to its healthy shade, a sign that there was still determination in him to go on.

“You’re going to be alright,” Wirt deducted, voice soft in his remission. “Thank goodness, you’re going to be alright.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

Beatrice’s entire family had came in the room at some point, all either wanting to see the boy or give him something, such as a spare blanket or a bowl of leftover potato chunks for when he was able to eat it. Wirt sat on a chair next to his brother, carefully watching for the slightest twitch or sound. He’d been at it for nearly the entire length of the night, which he sat through with not the least bit of discomfort. It would all be worth it when the wait was finally over. That he was sure of.

Jason Funderburker croaked, snapping Wirt’s attention away from the bed. The gnome-dressed boy tilted his head curiously, wondering what it was that he should be noticing. Wirt never found out what exactly was it that alarmed the frog so much after dinner, for the only thing that had changed was the slow recovery of Greg’s well-being. Perhaps Jason had only meant to tell Wirt not to give up on him, although the prospect was not once considered past his loyal heartedness.

“What are you getting at?” Wirt wondered, the frog’s gestures hard to make out in the shadows, broken only by a lone candle that sat upon a wooden table by the bedside. “Are you trying to tell me something . . . about Greg?”

Jason ribbited his confirmation, hopping up onto Gregory’s kettle, which Wirt had placed upon one of the kiddie chairs. The frog made another noise, tapping the metal object with one of his webbed feet, although Wirt couldn't quite grasp Jason’s meaning.

“An elephant . . . no. His head is . . . nah. I should . . .  make tea?” the brown-haired teen guessed, all of his supposed answers receiving a disagreeing shake of the head. “I dunno. I’ve never been good at charades. Or talking to frogs.”

The amphibian seemed to sigh in annoyance, although it sounded more like an awkward croak than anything. Wirt just gave an apologising shrug, watching as the frog tapped on the pot a couple more times, producing a quiet series of noises. Jason then proceeded to let out a flurry of emphatic sounds from the back of his throat, the familiar  _ ‘rorop’ _ s echoing off the walls.

Wirt lifted an eyebrow at the frog’s antics, unsure of the reason behind the disturbance.  _ What is he up to? He’ll wake the entire household, going like that, _ the boy observed, a flash of inspiration suddenly dawning on him.  _ He’ll wake Greg, too, if he were loud enough. _

“Oh! I get it!” Wirt beamed, speaking boisterously, in no way taking into consideration the other sleeping members of the mill-house. “You want to make noise so Greg will hear us! Than he’ll know that we’re here and can try and wake up! It’s brilliant, Funderburker! Absolutely brilliant!”

The teen smiled at his sudden outburst, standing from his chair. If he’d known before that he would be praising a frog for being loud in the middle of the night, he’d think that he were mad. But the situation had mostly clouded the boy’s intellectual ability, leaving him with the sole purpose of bringing Greg back to his lively state. So what if the had to wake an entire family to do it?

He glanced questioningly over to his brother’s bed, searching for any indication that Greg had heard them, but there wasn’t the faintest stir under the sheets.  _ Maybe we need to be louder, _ Wirt frowned, racking his brain for a plan on how to rouse the sleeping boy.  _ Or perhaps I should give him a motive to move. _ Both sounded like fair ideas, so Wirt took to verbal bribery — more specifically — poetry.

“Open your eyes to see the light, for the beauty and happiness of the world is waiting for its time to shine. Untangle your soul from the depths of despair and push away the brambles of darkness. The stars are awaiting the moon’s return from the blackened abyss of night, eager to see the delicate glow of peace once more. Keep not a broken shard of slumber; take to your heart the awakening of love. Be reunited to life, be reunited to us,” Wirt composed at the spot, speaking with as much conviction and volume as he could muster. “Come back to us, Greg. Don’t let us worry any longer.”

Jason croaked after Wirt had finished speaking, hopping off of the kettle to land by Gregory’s side. The frog prodded him, his intelligent eyes seeking for a response. Wirt stood in anticipation, waiting. It seemed as if the silence dragged on for decades. The older brother almost gathered his breath to try again, but paused, hearing the slightest sound emitting from the covered lump.

It was a groan. Just the barest remains of a groan, but a groan nonetheless. Wirt froze, caught up in the moment.  _ Is it happening? _ The teen held his breath, listening intently.  _ Had he actually heard me? _

The room was quiet for a while; no person or frog dared to move and disturb the seven year-old’s chances of waking up. There was just too much at stake. When nothing happened for a long time, Wirt scowled in disappointment, letting out the air in his chest.

Jason saw this and gave the brown-haired teen a sharp look, as if to warn him not to give up so soon.  _ It isn’t over yet . . . _ Wirt reminded himself, returning his companion’s stern gaze.  _ I’ll stand strong with my faith until the end. For sure. _

As if the thought itself had the power to rouse Greg, the small boy resumed his moaning. The watching duo perked up when it begun, praying for the moment of recovery.  _ Come on, Greg . . .  _ Wirt hoped, ready to end the tedious delay.  _ You can do it! _

“I . . . want . . . waffles,” the patient mumbled, his voice tiny and weak. “I’m . . . hungry . . .”

Wirt couldn’t hold back a cheer, rushing over to Greg’s side. Jason ribbited, smiling profoundly.

“Greg! It’s me, Wirt. We’re back in the mill-house. Beatrice and her family are here,” the boy’s brother explained happily. “Can you open your eyes? Can you get up?”

The seven year-old said something Wirt couldn’t quite catch and fought to open his lids, obviously under a high amount of strain. He did manage to part them to some degree, and those familiar orbs locked with his brother’s, causing Greg to grin past his discomfort.

“Beatrice is here? She . . . she says she doesn’t . . . like waffles,” Gregory attempted to speak, his eyes closing briefly before opening again. The smile never left his face. “So she can’t eat them . . . too.”

_ Oh, Greg. You must’ve been so hurt when I ignored you all this time, _ Wirt remembered, frowning against his will.  _ It was all my fault. I should’ve been a better brother. I’m just glad you’re going to be safe now . . . You will be fine. I won’t let the Beast trouble you anymore. I will keep you safe. _

“Don’t be sad, Wirt,” Greg soothed weakly, watching as his older brother’s eyes clouded with unshed tears. “I know I can find . . . maggots for her . . . when we eat waffles. Are . . . maggots good too? Maybe . . . I can have some. I’m very . . . hungry, brother o’ mine.”

“Beatrice is a girl now,” Wirt told him, doing his best to get rid of his wistful tone. “I don’t think she eats maggots anymore. But I’m sure she’ll make some waffles for you if I ask. Would you like that, Greg?”

The boy nodded slowly, his beaming face faltering for a heartbeat. 

Wirt forced an encouraging smile, ready to leave, when he spotted the bowl of potatoes Nancy had left on the table. They were cold by now, but he thought it would be good to get something in Greg while he was still awake. Picking it up, Wirt sat the bowl in front of his younger brother, placing it carefully in his lap. Greg simply stared at it through half-opened eyes.

“Do you want to eat some potatoes until they’re ready?” the teen offered sweetly, stirring up the contents of the dish, hoping the bland morsels would be enticing enough for his sibling to consume. “They’re from dinner.”

“Potatoes?” Greg whimpered, blinking. “And . . . molasses?”

“No, there isn’t any molasses,” Wirt responded with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Will you still eat it?”

Wirt’s brother was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. He gave a reluctant nod, his stomach grumbling loudly. Greg attempted to grab the bowl with his hands, struggling to change his position. With Wirt’s help he was able to sit up straight and lean up against a pillow, his meal now in reach.

Wirt watched him take his first bite. The lighter-haired boy made a face, but gobbled down the food with no more issues, his ravenous appetite finally beginning to get tended to. Energy poured into him with every mouthful.

_ Wow. And to think ‘dirt’ could be this good for you, _ the teen observed as a figure walked into the room. He turned to find Beatrice, who was standing in the doorway, bare-footed and wearing a blue gown, her mouth agape at the sight.

“When did Greg wake up?” she asked.

“Just a while ago,” Wirt answered. “I’m sorry about all the noise. Jason suggested that I should make some sound so Greg would wake up.”

“That frog can talk?” the former bluebird asked again, her wide eyes shooting towards Greg’s pet.

“No, not really. I mean, he did sing that one time, but I’ve never heard anything else out of him,” Wirt shrugged, looking over at the amphibian. “You can’t talk, right?”

Jason just ribbited.

“Nope. He can’t talk,” the fake gnome deducted, remembering Gregory’s request. “Oh, Greg woke up famished, so he asked if you could prepare some waffles. You  _ can _ make waffles, right?”

The redhead responded with a shrug. “We have the stuff to make it in the flour mill, but I’m not that great of a cook.”

“Mmm . . . Waffles,” Greg interjected, smiling past a full mouth of potato mush.

“Yeah whatever,” Beatrice decided, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see if my mom can fix some for him instead.”

“Okay. Thanks, Beatrice,” Wirt acknowledged, seeing her leave. The teen glanced back at his brother, who had about finished his food. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Greg.”

His reply was a loving expression that gave Wirt a newfound sense of confidence. Things were going to turn out alright after all.


	13. Spilt Milk

**Chapter 13: Spilt Milk**

 

It was late morning by the time Gregory had finished eating. The brown-headed boy had fallen fast asleep at the table, his face resting in his arms as he produced a series of small snores. His now-empty plate had once held what he had declared to be the world’s best ‘eat-your-tummy-full-nom-nom-spectacular’, which consisted of but a couple of tiny, homemade waffles and a dollop of leftover butter from the previous night’s dinner. It filled him to the brim, to Wirt and Beatrice’s relief, and a small meal and a cup of water was enough to satisfy the needs of the awoken hibernator. Temporarily, of course.

Wirt and Beatrice sat comfortably next to him, their faces calm and relieved to see Greg active once again — or as active as he was going to get so soon after his recovery. Even so, the long night had finally taken its toll on the two worriers, heads dipping and eyelids drooping at the sight of Wirt’s snoozing brother.

“I can’t believe I stayed up all night,” the gnome-dressed boy mused, groaning. “I feel like my head is going to fall off.”

Beatrice yawned in response, mumbling something Wirt couldn’t quite catch in his state of drowsiness. Considering how exhausted he was, he probably wouldn’t have comprehended it even if he had heard her. At the moment, all he was concerned of was getting some shut-eye and relieving the stress of staying awake. 

Wirt put his head down. Beatrice did the same. It wasn’t long before both of them fell into a comforted slumber, wearing light smiles on their tired faces.

 

o-o-o-o

 

Wirt’s placid doze came to an abrupt end with the splashing of a cold liquid on his face, the wet substance trickling across his skin and leaving the brown-haired teen discomforted and wary.

“Wha?” he began, prying open his heavy lids. “What’s . . . happening?”

“Oops! Sorry! I was going to give Jason Funderburker a drink, but then my hand slipped and spilled it all over you, Wirt. It’s okay, though. I’m going to get you a towel to dry off and you can be a happy sleeper again!” Greg apologised in a cheerful tone, sounding all the more energized. “Beatrice’s mommy says to let you sleep, brother o’ mine, so I’ve gotta do my duty as a proper citizen! That’s what the adult people say. They want us to follow all the rules so we can turn out big and strong like gorillas! So you rest up and I’ll get you that towel. Wait there until I get back.”

The plump boy scampered off before Wirt could gather his thoughts and reply, returning soon after with a hefty bundle of cotton cloths in his small arms. He set them on the wet table and grabbed a few to wipe off Wirt.

“Oh, wow. You sure have a lot of milk in your hair,” Gregory said, gently rubbing his older brother’s face with the towels. “Maybe next time you can sleep in a bed. Beds are good for sleeping. People don’t drink milk in bed. Unless it’s their birthday. People like having breakfast in their room on their birthday because it makes them feel older, but  _ I _ think when you eat in your room on your birthday you can’t see all of your friends when they’re all outside. I actually like chocolate in my milk because chocolate is sweet. You like chocolate in your milk, too, right?”

Wirt attempted to nod past Greg’s handiwork, but the boy kept him perfectly still as he tried to dry the teen’s head, tiny fingers busy letting the cloth soak up any leftover moisture. The process was slow and slightly awkward, although the gnome-dressed boy managed to sit through his brother’s ramblings.  _ I’m so glad Greg’s awake now,  _ Wirt smiled softly while he absently, yet fondly, listened to his sibling’s one-sided conversation.  _ I’ve almost missed his way of parting the clouds in the sky. I’ve regained the brightness that was nearly consumed in a wave of swirling malaise. _ There was a sort of joy to hear his elephant-dressed companion speak and stand healthily before him. It was like the promise of a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

“But dogs can’t have chocolate, so that makes me sad. If I was a dog I would want to eat chocolate,” Greg went on, ruffling Wirt’s already messy hair one last time. “Okay . . . I’m all done!” The seven year-old stepped back to examine his accomplishment. “Well lookie there! Now that’s one handsome piece of hair you got there, ain’t it? You’re a lucky young man, Wirt, to be having such great hair. I bet if you talked to Sara, she’d really love it and you wouldn’t even have to worry about her not liking that tape” — Greg pulled his silly-faced stone from his satchel — “and that’s a rock fact!”

The older brother smiled warmly at that, his thanks apparent in his expression. “Well, I’m sure she would, Greg. It’s always good to have you here. Don’t be going to sleep on us again, okay?”

“Okie dokie! But I’m going to have to take naps  _ sometime _ or I might fall over when I walk, like that one guy at my school who fell asleep during recess. And if it gets too dark or if I drink warm milk I might get tired, but don’t worry! I’m gonna stay awake as long as I can to make you happy! Because that’s what I have to do!” Greg grinned brightly, picking up his frog, who had been hiding under the table. “There you are, Jason Funderburker! I’ve been looking all over for you. Next time don’t sit under the table so I won’t have to spill your drink in Wirt’s hair.”

Jason croaked, which made the seven year-old boy hug him tightly.

Greg laughed, “Yeah! That’s my Jason Funderburker. You’re a good frog. Maybe I should take you outside with Beatrice but I don’t think you like the cold so I’m going to leave you in here. The doggie will take care of you until I’m back with Wirt, though, so you make sure you’re cozy. I’ll give you a blanket.” The brown-haired boy set the frog comfortably on Beatrice’s couch, giving him one of the remaining dry towels to stay warm under. Jason ribbited his thanks and closed his eyes to sleep while the dog came to curiously sniff the new addition to his living space. Greg simply giggled.

“Isn’t it too uncomfortable out there to be going into the snow?” Wirt asked skeptically. The last few times he attempted walking outside proved to be no fun. Besides, he was unsure if little Greg would be able to cope with the weather so soon after waking up.

“Nope! I went with Beatrice already and the snow is nice and pretty. You should come play. We can make snow angels!” Greg beamed, his bright smile reaching his eyes. 

_ Well. I guess I was wrong about him being too weak to deal with the cold. _ “Hm. Well, I guess it would be alright to go for a minute. Beatrice can handle freezing temperatures just fine, but if you say it’s livable then we should be alright. Just . . . be careful, okay?” Wirt said.

Greg gave an encouraging thumbs up. Together, the two brothers made their way into the wintry land beyond and suddenly Wirt felt as though the bitter winds weren’t that scary anymore. After all, he had the warmth of the sun by his side.

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Hey! Wirt! Greg!” Beatrice called them over from her spot in the field, standing in the midst of a mound of freshly fallen snow. The air was mild, however, and didn’t give Wirt the chills he had once dreaded to experience. Even the sky seemed to clear itself from its past, the sunlight casting long rays down to Earth with a brilliant glow. It all seemed much more pleasant than before, almost as if winter had fled away from the world to leave behind the freeing sensation of abundant cheer. It was beautiful.

“We’re coming, Beatrice!” Wirt responded, tugging lightly on his brother’s hand for him to follow. They soon met the girl at the treeline, who had turned to glance into the forest to gaze at something unseen. The redhead then spinned back around to face the teen, her gaze happy, but worrisome at the same time.

“Well, I see you’ve finally decided to wake up, sleepyhead,” she teased. “It’s about time. Greg was awake  _ long _ before you were.”

“Haha! I got up before Wirt! I’m a big kid now!” Greg added with pride.

Wirt made a face.

Beatrice laughed. “Greg, you go play in the snow. I want to talk to Wirt about something.”

Obediently, the child ran off to do just that, allowing his older brother and friend to have their conversation undisturbed. The gnome-dressed teen tilted his head to the side, curious to see what had been so important that she didn’t want Greg around to hear.  _ Is it the Beast again? I really hope not . . . _

“Wirt, there’s something you’ve got to know,” she began, more seriously. “Remember that story I told you about winter lasting forever?”

He nodded.

“Well, this is the second time this season that it’s been this warm and I have a hunch that it won’t last. The ice isn’t showing heavy signs of melting and the trees are still cold and barren. That last storm was worse than the ones we’ve had before, and if you know anything about stormclouds then you wouldn’t be surprised if this heat made the blizzards worse. I’m not sure how far away from home you are or how you’ll get back, but if you don’t act speedily, before the next few storms arrive, you and Greg won’t ever get the chance to return,” her voice was low, a warning. “You’re going to have to leave, Wirt. And you’re going to have to do it very soon.”

“But what if we can’t get there in time? I-I can’t go out there into the Unknown all alone! We’re lost! What if the storm comes when we’re still in the forest? We’ll be frozen solid!” he protested, waving his arms around for emphasis.

“You’re going to have to take that chance, Wirt. Staying here isn’t going to help you any longer. Greg can walk. Just look at him! He’s running around, perfectly fit for travel!” The former bluebird pointed to his sibling, who was, in fact, frolicing in the blanket of white and throwing snowballs at invisible people, yelling and whooping loudly. “You said yourself that you needed to go home, so here’s that chance! The weather is good.  _ You need to go. _ ”

Wirt hesitated, frowning.  _ How does she know that I need to go? How does she know that I haven’t changed my mind? How does she not see that this could be my last chance to stay with her, with the one person who can actually accept who I am? How could she send me back to my old life, after tasting freedom and joy for the first time? Can I not make my own choices? Can I not lead my own life? Do I need to be guided every which way like I cannot see the right paths to take? I’m not some kid who can’t make a proper decision. It’s better here with Beatrice, even if she can’t see that. If I go I’ll be sending myself back into disaster. _

“Beatrice, I’m not going,” Wirt said, calmly matching her burning stare. “If I choose to go alone and risk our lives to get home when I’m perfectly content staying here, there must be something seriously wrong with me.”

“Wirt . . .” she grimaced, her fiery attitude debating with her own heart. She didn’t really want Wirt to have to say goodbye. He was happy to see that. “I get that you’re thinking that this is a great place with some amazing people and that leaving would be dangerous, but you can’t just stay here. You wouldn’t want that for Greg. This isn’t your family, Wirt. You need to return to your  _ real _ one. The one with Sara and Jason and your mom and dad. You can’t make yourself believe that you don’t need them anymore than you need us.”

His eyes began to water, but he didn’t let himself get past that point in his regrets.  _ C-could she be right? Have I been acting selfishly this whole time? Should I really give all this up . . . to gain what I had before? _ Greg could be heard having a fun time in the background. It plucked at his heartstrings.  _ Maybe . . . maybe it would be better if I went back . . . for Greg. And for me. _

“Alright, Beatrice. I’ll make a move soon,” Wirt gave in, his eyes distant. “But . . . we really are lost and I don’t know the way back. Could you . . .  _ Would you _ be willing to come along? At least until we have a trail to take? You live in the Unknown and probably know the terrain a lot better than we do. And you  _ did _ get us to Adelaide in a fairly quick amount of time.”

The girl sighed, the weight of the question heavy on her shoulders. “Um, I suppose I could go a little of the way, but I don’t want to be stuck out there when the storm hits. But we can never be exactly sure with these things. We could have a few days or even an hour. I have duties here. It would be risky.”

He gave her a sly smile. “Hey, didn’t you just say that traveling alone would be dangerous already? Are you afraid?”

She huffed, freckled cheeks turning a brighter shade of red, “Of course not, Wirt! I’m just being cautious, that’s all. You know what? I  _ will _ come with you. Just to show you that I’m not a wimp like you are.”

Wirt gave her a smile. “Thank you, Beatrice. I’m sure you’ll be helpful to us.”

“Whatever.” She looked swiftly away, flustered, but Wirt knew that there was a hidden meaning behind those strong words. He knew that deep inside, there was a part of her that wanted to help him go home too.


	14. Together We Will Go

**Chapter 14: Together We Will Go**

 

“Oh, you three do take care. I couldn’t bear to see it if any of you got hurt,” Beatrice’s mother bid them farewell, torn between having a guardian’s concern for their child and her own morals. “And Beatrice, I want you back  _ promptly _ before the storm hits. No, I just won’t take it if you’re stuck out there in the blizzard, you hear?”

The redhead rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “We’ll be  _ fine,  _ mom. I’ll get Wirt and Greg as far as they need and I’ll be back in one piece, not a bluebird or anything. You can trust me.”

“That’s what you said when you were walking the dog . . .” Amanda muttered, frowning.

Beatrice scowled, her face a bright shade of red. Wirt placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder to keep her calm. Luckily, it worked.

“We’re very grateful for your hospitality,” the gnome-dressed teen thanked, watching as Greg exchanged a few words with Thomas and Nancy. “I’ll make sure Beatrice comes back as soon as possible. We really can’t make it without having her with us.”

His words seemed to reassure the worrying mother and she let out a tense breath. “Then I won’t stand in your way. Go quickly, and do it without getting into too much trouble. If you take your food and supplies with you then there shouldn’t be anything other than nature to worry about.”

_ And the Beast . . .  _ Wirt silently added, although the inclusion of the monster was obvious in the woman’s pronunciation. The danger may be too much to handle, but perhaps they still had a chance. Maybe it would be safe enough with his friend to guide them and provisions to help them along. Or would the weather — the  _ Beast _ — catch them on their way?  _ We have to take the risk, though. We  _ have  _ to. There’s no other choice. No real one, at least. _

“Thank you,” Wirt said, his face serious, yet wary. “I promise we’ll be as safe as we can.”

“Oh, I dearly hope so,” the female murmured, as if she herself had her doubts. “Take your things now and say goodbye. You wouldn’t want to waste a second.”

The teenage boy nodded, granting the lady a smile before joining Greg to give the other children his salutations, despite the fact that he’d hardly bonded with any of them, let alone had enough to say for the sake of his remembrance. But if Greg could do it, then he was determined to try. All the while Beatrice gathered the needed items for travel and packed it into a large cloth sack, which she hauled over her shoulder and carried with the help of her back, her hands clutching the opening tightly. It vaguely reminded Wirt of the carpetbaggers from one of his history books that he’d read before. When he mentioned it, he just received a strange look from the girl, so Wirt didn’t bother pointing anything else out, finishing up his small talk with Gideon.

“Yeah, so I’ll be seeing you . . .” the brown-haired teen attempted to conclude the conversation. “I mean, I probably  _ won’t _ be seeing you because I’m going to go home probably forever, but . . . I-I’ll still visit, if I can. Don’t think I can . . . but . . . you know . . . we’re lost and —”

The chubby boy laughed at his awkwardness, his long, reddish bangs bobbing up and down. “You’re so terrible at talking to people! You’ve gotta stop dragging this on! I think I’m going to fall asleep in the middle of all this! Seriously!” he chuckled, making Wirt flush in embarrassment. “If you’re gonna be a fun person, don’t say goodbye all day! Even  _ I _ know that. And I thought you were supposed to be seven years older than me!”

“I’m sorry . . .”

“Don’t say sorry! Apologising makes it worse!”

“I . . .”

Gideon shushed him, shaking his head disapprovingly. He mouthed the word ‘goodbye’, a cue for Wirt to stop speaking and leave before he made the situation worse for the both of them. Wirt took a step back, figuring that if he wanted to keep his dignity it would be the best thing to do.

“Well, this is going great,” he muttered when he got himself far enough away from the boy.

Beatrice smirked, “Hey, Gideon’s got a point, weirdo. You tend to go on with your ramblings forever. Learn to say what you mean. No one wants to hear a mediocre poet give a lecture on how to tie shoes, you know? Especially when that poet can’t even keep his own tied for a second.”

Wirt blushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He looked down. Sure enough, his laces were loose, the strands slipping from their hold and falling messily to the ground. He must’ve pulled the knot out when he was walking.

The redhead gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “You done talking to my boring ol’ siblings yet? Can we go?”

“Uh,” he began, bending over to tie his shoes. It really bugged him having them loose.

While he was doing that, Greg came over to join them, leaving the room where he had just been playing with a blonde-headed Caroline, the two year-old Wirt never had the chance to meet. A prod in the side from Beatrice reminded him of his priorities once more.

“Are we going to leave yet, Wirt?”

“Yeah, Wirt!” his brother interjected. “When are we gonna go?”

The brown-haired teen sighed, letting his gaze slip over the family once more.  _ They’re so helpful and sweet . . . So unlike the family I have back home. These people are never going to be forgotten . . . Not ever. _ He smiled, standing up. “Okay, Beatrice. Okay, Greg. Let’s go home.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

The last steps out of the mill-house’s door were the hardest to take. The sad and smiling faces of Beatrice’s homestead were a heavy weight on his limbs, an anchor tied to his hull, nearly preventing him from leaving the family behind.

“Farewell, Wirt!” Polly’s voice cried out one last time.

“Don’t get caught in the storm!” Beatrice’s father advised.

“Bye!”

“We’ll miss you!”

“Get home safely!”

Wirt gave another torn wave of his hand to the group and made his way into the great Unknown, the encouraging words fading into the distance. Soon his dissatisfaction faded as well. He could now feel the fresh, open air of the wild lands beyond. He propelled himself towards the rows of endless trees as he traveled alongside the people that made the journey back to his home seem a possible task. The bright sun streaked golden rays across the sky; a blinding flash of freedom pulled a fit of bubbling laughter from the confines of his once darkened selfhood. Hope came flooding back into him faster than he’d ever imagined to be possible.

“Quiet, dork!” Beatrice broke his happy fantasy, tugging him back into reality with her blunt irritation. “You’re giggling like a four year-old girl. Stop it.”

Wirt did, embarrassed to have the former bluebird scold him so early into their journey. “I’m sorry . . . I-I was just . . . happy, I guess.”

“Well, then be happy  _ silently,  _ okay? Greg’s not being annoying, is he? You should be like that.” She hopped over a fallen log, her blue shoes squelching through the thick layers of mud and snow. Turning back into a human didn’t seem to change her attitude at all, nor did it help to hide the fact that she still felt that Wirt could be hard to deal with at times. It was apparent in her mild scowl and the way she held herself, yet Wirt knew better than to question her friendship with him any longer. The fifteen year-old male knew just how caring she really was under that somewhat hostile glare. In fact, he even suspected that she thought of him as her best friend. It was reassuring enough that he didn’t feel hurt by her coldness.

“Okay, fine. I’ll be quiet.” he replied casually, the lowest branch of the tree beside him catching his cloak and nearly ripping it. The untimely scare produced a worried yelp from his mouth as he pulled the fabric out of the brittle limb’s reach, patting down the raised cloth with a careful hand. He sighed in relief. There wasn’t even a hole.

Wirt glanced back over to Beatrice to find her glowering at him with a light smile on her pink lips. It was hard for him to tell the true intentions of her expression, but he didn’t bother to press it. Girls confused him heartily sometimes. Instead, he watched his brother and his frog dance their way across the dirty road, bouncing about the path with such joy and companionship. There was something to traveling with them all awake and together that brought a dormant part of himself out into the light. It was that thing that kept him going and set the brilliance of the future back into play.

Wirt gave a large grin, his enthusiasm and potential pure in its state. All he could see ahead of them was promise.  _ We’re going home. _


	15. Exploration and Expectation

**Chapter 15: Exploration and Expectation**

 

“Where are we? Are you sure this is the right way?” Wirt frowned, glancing around in his attempt to take in the view of the surrounding forest. The scenery had hardly changed since the trio and their frog started their journey, the stretching waves of leafless trees and snow-covered bushes leaving the teen with little to no assurance that the way was right. Gregory didn’t seem to mind though, his pace fervent and eager to reach their destination. Wirt found himself watching his brother and pet, feeling more worried than happy to see them running about so carelessly. 

The bouncing form of Jason popped out of sight for a moment as he hopped under the low-hanging tendrils of a collection of thorny briar. Greg would’ve gone onwards without noticing the frog’s disappearance if it hadn’t of been for Beatrice, who alerted the boy. The seven year-old gave a face of alarm, turning around immediately and dropping to the ground, wide eyes searching for his frog. His older brother didn’t want to get in the way, so he stood where he was, allowing the child to continue his small struggle without him.

“Um, B-beatrice? Where are we?” Wirt repeated his wary question as his brother struggled to rescue the amphibian, who had become stuck in the brambles, much like Beatrice had when they allowed her to join in their travels. Glancing over at the girl, the brown-haired teen noticed the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she stared into the distance like she was imagining something that wasn’t quite there. “Beatrice . . .”

“I’m taking you home, Wirt,” she answered flatly, not looking back at him.

“No, but . . .  _ where _ —”

“ _ Home, _ Wirt! That’s where you're going. So just . . . just be quiet and let me help you, okay?” the redhead cut him off, turning to him with clouded eyes, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her hold on the supply sack. “Okay? Let me help, Wirt. You can trust me.”

“I . . . Yeah, I know I can,” he confirmed, his mouth pressing into a tight line. “It’s hard, though, when you aren’t telling me anything.”

Her expression wavered for a heartbeat, bringing back some of the darkened memories of the past.  _ It’s not like I did anything to make her lose my trust before. It was her choice. And it’s her choice whether or not she’s showing us the right way now,  _ Wirt thought. _ Although, I have to try and believe in her. Beatrice has proven herself to be a friend so many times. _ Wirt took a slow breath, allowing his gaze to fall back to Greg, who was now covered heartily in mud, leaves and twigs. The round boy held his frog high in the air, a battered and uncomfortable green shape.

“Hey! Lookie here! I’ve got me a Jason Funderburker! He was stuck pretty good but I untangled him so you don’t need to worry,” Greg informed them with a cheerful smile. “Bushes are real dangerous places, aren’t they?”

Beatrice chuckled quietly, finding his antics to be as amusing as Wirt did. Neither of them did much to reply, already continuing along the hidden trail. Wirt ruffled Greg’s dirty bangs affectionately as he passed. The boy proceeded to follow him, the frog held firmly in his arms while he scolded Jason for being so reckless, demanding that he stay within his reach. The lecture seemed to have worked; Wirt didn’t notice any unfortunate scenario involving his brother and their frog happen in the time it took for Beatrice to slow her pace, eventually coming to a halt at the foot of a boulder.

“Uh, why are we here?” the brown-haired teen asked, tipping his head to the side to glimpse the trivial stone. It was gray, insignificantly sized and obviously not a part of Wirt and Greg’s town.

“Well, you said you wanted to go home, right?” she said.

“Yes, but what does a rock have to do with going home?” Wirt wondered, incredulously lifting an eyebrow. “Is there some kind of weird Unknown magic to this or something? That involves random boulders?”

The redhead sighed in irritation, lightly tapping the boulder with her free hand and then the tree beside it. Her tone was slow as she spoke, the words enunciated and precise, as if she were speaking to a toddler. “No, Wirt. This is where I first saw you and Greg. Of course, since you two are  _ lost _ and I can’t automatically know where you live, we have to start somewhere. So you’re going to help me out so I can send you and Greg on your merry way.”

Wirt made a face, realizing how weak his logic had become since he and his brother ventured into the forest. _ Seriously! It’s that simple? Why couldn’t I think of that? Wow . . . all of this enchantment stuff must really be getting to my head. _

“Hey, Beatrice!” Greg interjected, his gaze wide and innocent.

The girl looked over to the boy in a mixture of curiosity and impatience. “Yes? What do you want, Greg?”

“Did you know that sometimes when sea otters are good friends they’ll hold hands so they don’t float far away from each other when they sleep?” he beamed, pulling out his painted stone. “It’s a rock fact!”

“Uh, that’s nice . . . I guess,” Beatrice said, turning back to Wirt. “Like I was saying, you’re going to have to try and remember where your town is. What direction were you walking when you came here?”

The cloaked teenger’s brow furrowed in thought. “I think . . . we . . . maybe . . .” Wirt squinted, gazing around the landscape. The last time he’d been in this part of the forest it was dark and hardly recognizable, but Wirt could still see some of the signs that showed that this was indeed the place of his and Beatrice’s meeting. Under the sun-filled sky and without the bulk of foliage above to shade his view, the gnome-dressed boy could see a clearing where he recalled the Woodsman gathering branches for his lantern from a chopped Edelwood tree. Now there was not a single twig leftover; nothing but leaves, snow and unusable oil covered the forest floor.  _ That’s strange . . . The Woodsman must still be busy working for the Beast. _ Wirt shuddered from the memory.  _ Oh, Greg. I didn’t realize how dangerous this would be. If only I didn’t make that mixtape in the first place . . . If only . . . _

His brother could be heard talking behind him, snapping Wirt out of his reminiscing. He immediately turned the opposite way, eyes searching the land beyond.  _ Yeah . . . we came from there, past that stretch of woodland. And there should be a fallen tree that serves as a bridge even farther in, if I remember correctly. _

“Beatrice! I think I’ve got it,” he smiled, pointing towards the path he believed they had come from. “Right before you saw us, we passed that way. I don’t remember taking many turns, so we should be fine, but I can only recall a couple of landmarks and I’m not sure how in the world we got here. Our town is pretty large, though, so there should be lots of lights at this time of day. And it should be especially bright if we travel at night. I mean . . . as long as we’re not on the wrong side of town. I think we’re going the right route . . .”

Beatrice took a moment to contemplate his statements before replying. “I guess that’s the most I can expect from you. We should just try walking and see if any of those . . . lights turn up. But seriously, Wirt. Either you have the most sensitive eyes in the world or that town of yours keeps thousands of candles lit in every house.”

“Well, I-I’m sure . . .”

The former bluebird sighed, already beginning to walk off with the sack of supplies. “Whatever. We don’t have time to waste. The storm could start at any moment and I have to get you two as far as possible and go home before it gets bad. So quit stalling and come on, okay?”

“Alright,” Wirt agreed softly, tugging on his brother’s hand to get his attention. “Let’s go.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Stop. Just stop,” the gnome-dressed teen frowned, standing in the center of a confusing mess of trees. They’d traveled past the last of Wirt’s landmarks long ago, now having nothing besides his description of the town to guide them. Even Jason wore upon his intelligent face an expression of pure perplexity. “We can’t keep going. If we do, we may get more lost than before. B-beatrice . . . you . . . you could go in so deep that you won’t ever be able to get back home.”

The redhead turned back around, biting her lip. Her flushed face seemed to have grown more red, the freckles on her cheeks popping out from the contrast. “What do you expect me to do, Wirt? I have to help you and Greg get home! Towns just don’t disappear. We’re probably close. We just can’t see it yet. You said yourself that there were lots of lights, right? With that many candles we can’t miss it!”

“A-about that . . . I never said anything about candles . . .” he murmured awkwardly.

“Yes you did, Wirt. That’s what you meant. You must be delusional.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d know . . .”

“What else could it be?” Beatrice shook her head, one hand on her hip. “And why are you telling me this now?”

“Well . . . you kinda cut me off before,” he answered softly, suddenly aware of how much taller and stronger she was than him. Beatrice had to be at least four inches past his head and definitely had the ability to beat him in an arm wrestling match, not that he could beat anyone. He simply gathered his courage and took a deep breath, glad to find that there was no hostility under her unfriendly posture. “What I meant was that they kept the lights on . . .”

“‘Kept the lights on’?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yeah . . . Wait. Don’t you know what that means?”

“Of course not. Unless you’re talking about not blowing out the candles . . .”

“No, there aren’t any candles. Not unless it’s somebody’s birthday,” he clarified.  _ Doesn’t she know what I’m talking about? I knew that the people here were old fashioned, but I never thought that they would be completely oblivious to society! _ Wirt mused, surprised. He supposed that that made up for his lack of knowledge in terms of magic, but that was probably because he’d always thought that literal magic didn’t exist. It was all a poetic metaphor to replicate feelings, hopes and dreams — at least — that’s what he had believed  _ before _ venturing into the Unknown. Now he was willing to change his mindset. The world was much more exciting when the possibilities were broadened so vastly. “We have light bulbs and electricity, all of that modern technology stuff. I’m really behind on most of it because my dad passed down a bunch of his hobbies for me to take but I . . . uh . . . I think I understand it. Sort of.”

Beatrice gave him a strange look. “Yup. You’re definitely delusional. Hey, Greg. Why don’t you give the instructions instead? Wirt doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

The smaller boy beamed happily, holding his frog up higher in delight. “Hear that, Jason Funderburker? We’re gonna be leaders! I think I’m an okay leader. What about you?” The amphibian gave a nonchalant croak. “Hmm. Alright! Let’s get the job done good! We have a crew to take safely home! We can’t let Beatrice down!”

“Hey!” Wirt protested, annoyed by the girl’s sudden dismissal of his claims. “I  _ do _ know what I’m talking about! I-I’m just really bad at explaining.” 

Beatrice cast him a sideways glance. “Sure, Wirt. That’s got to be it.” With that said, she continued walking, obviously not about to believe him.

Wirt groaned and reluctantly followed his brother as he ambled along with his frog, their wide eyes peeled for danger. The scenery kept to being a dreary and lonesome landscape, the waves of autumn colors he had remembered were stripped from the land, leaving behind dull browns and unpromising grays. Leafless branches swayed in the cold breeze and windswept snowflakes drifted through the chilling air. They kept traveling in silence anyway, hoping that the town would appear at any moment. Every dip in the earth seemed a time for curiosity; every tree passed was a step towards hope. Even Wirt felt in himself a need for his logic to have failed him. Even Wirt wanted to catch a glimpse of the city’s glow radiating above the distant horizon as the group stands along the edge of the length of trees, never again having to worry about the Beast or getting lost again. It seemed a nice fantasy. It seemed an impossible one.

The brown-haired teen shivered, feeling a blasting gale rush past his skin. It had grown to be freezing and still none of them caught any sign of familiarity. Beatrice’s nose was scrunched up in thought, regret beginning to show through her features.  _ You should’ve stopped sooner, when I told you to, Beatrice. Now the polar winds of a darkened past may sweep you away, a simple log in a fast-flowing river of shedded tears. Oh, how wonderful it would be if we aren’t too late to send you home. To send us  _ all _ home. _ Wirt tried to hide his desperation. It didn’t work very well.

“Hey, doofus,” the girl began, slowing her pace against the rush of cold. “I . . . uh, I’m sorry if you get stuck out here in the storm because of me. I should’ve listened to you before.”

Wirt hummed softly under his breath, seeing it swirl in the air before vanishing into the building fog. “It’s . . . I forgive you. It’s okay. We were probably going to end up getting stuck here anyway. We’re lost, we have no idea how to get home and now I’m not even sure that there’ll be much time before the blizzard starts. It probably would’ve been better if you stayed home, Beatrice. At least then . . . At least then you wouldn’t have to risk getting stranded out here, especially with your family to worry about you back at the mill.”

“So you aren’t mad at me?” she asked, her tone lacking the playfulness that he would expect from such a comment.

“No, no, Beatrice. I’m not,” he shook his head, sighing. “I’m just really confused about Greg and me. From what you’ve said I’m not even sure our town even exists anymore. We’ve past everything I could remember long ago and I still haven’t spotted a house. There’s no way we wandered this far away from town. I-I think . . . maybe we won’t be going home after all. It might be best that you return before it gets too bad. Perhaps we should all go.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened in surprise and she called for Gregory to stop walking for a moment. “Wirt, you can’t be serious. We’ve already come all this way. There has to be  _ some _ way for you to get there again! Towns just don’t disappear, do they?”

The tall boy’s gaze darkened, his optimism and hope completely drained. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Don’t give up! It could be just around this bend of trees! We could be  _ that close _ and you would never know because you wanted to leave,” she attempted.

“We’ve been going at this aimlessly all day. We’re not going to find it. Not anytime soon. And we really  _ won’t _ find it if we’re buried under a mound of snow! We can’t keep this up. Not me, not you, not Greg. And you have a family waiting for your safe return. Can’t you see that it would be the wrong thing to do? This has become a fruitless journey and you know it,” he huffed, fed up with traveling. “I can’t make you go and I certainly won’t make you stay, but if you choose to ignore the pain and wasted time to continue running after this lost cause then I won’t do a thing about it. It’s not like I can.”

There was a silence for a moment, broken only by the whisperings of the wind. Greg glanced between them, confused and uncomfortable to see them argue.

“Does this mean Jason and I aren’t leaders anymore?” he asked sadly, embracing his frog tightly against his chest.

“Greg . . .” Wirt sighed, stressed with the decisions he was trying to make. “I don’t think it matters right now. We just need to find some shelter from the storm so we can stay warm. And Beatrice can do what she wants.”

“Hmm. Okay! I’ll be a good leader to find you and Beatrice some shelter! We’re gonna be real toasty warm! Beatrice had a fire at her house! How about we if start a fire, too?” the boy suggested.

“Sure, Greg. That would be nice. But first we should find a place to stop when it starts to snow,” Wirt said.

“Okie-dokie! Now to look for one of those places . . .” The boy glanced around, eyes scanning the landscape for any inhabitable crevices or structures. It wasn’t long before Greg shook his head, tugging lightly on Wirt’s cape. “Um, uh-oh. There aren’t any comfy beds to sleep in the snow. We’ve gotta keep looking.”

Wirt frowned. “Hear that, Beatrice? There aren’t even any places to take shelter here. You can’t stay out here at night with the storm, can you?”

The former bluebird crossed her bare arms, still stubborn, setting the bag of supplies on the ground. “Wirt, no matter what, I’m not leaving you and Greg to get even more lost or quit returning entirely. So you’ve better have a plan to sleep tonight or we all will be getting illnesses.”

“What? What do you suggest we do, then? I can’t just make us teleport home, you know?” Wirt spat, waving his arms around in the air. “If I could, I would. But as of now we’re just prey to the forest! The best you can do is to be smart and get back to the one place where you might have a chance of getting out of this safely.”

“I’m staying with you until I’m sure you can return, Wirt. That’s final,” she replied. “And if that means that I’ve got to spend the night in a winter storm then that’s what I’ll do.”

The male cast his gaze to the ground, allowing himself a moment before giving in to her. He didn’t want to part with his friend anymore than she wanted to leave them alone.  _ I know that it wouldn’t be the smart thing to do, though. If only there was a way to properly navigate this place without getting more lost than we already are . . . Oh! Wait! What if we had a map of the Unknown?  _ “Beatrice . . . Do you know where we could find a map by any chance?”

“A map?” she echoed. “I’m not sure. No one I know has even tried charting the forest. Maps around these parts are really hard to come by.”

“Oh. Can we try and find one anyway?”

“We can’t get one in time, even if we do manage to find a mapmaker. The blizzard will start soon.”

Wirt contemplated his choices, asking one last question, “Then can we at least all retrace our steps back to the mill? There’s no way we can make it without some knowledge of the terrain and I’m completely stumped. Plus this way your family doesn’t have to wait for you any longer and Greg and I will have a place to stay. Maybe then we can try making another plan. This one isn’t going to work.”

The redhead gave him some consideration, picking up the sack once more and turning it over in her hands. “I really can’t argue about this anymore. It’s getting dangerous.”

He blinked. “Then we’re good?”

“I don’t see why not,” Beatrice responded. “This terrible weather is ruining everything for us. Mom would probably understand.”

“So it’s settled then,” Wirt said and nodded, staring upwards at a clouded sky, its weight heavy with the burden of countless snowflakes ready to be unleashed upon the world. The next one would be worse, that he could tell. And it would come soon. The gnome-dressed boy turned around, taking in the unfriendly view with a breath of courage. “Alright, come on. We’d better run.”


	16. Beastly Omens

**Chapter 16: Beastly Omens**

 

Under the shrouded sky and in the shade of the forest’s trees stood a man watching the land with a barren gaze, the simple lines of his face darkening by the second. A soft noise beckoned his attention, although the Woodsman could not quite tell what it was that he was hearing. The man peered into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source of the sound, using his daughter’s light as a guide. Distinguishing it as the thumping of shoes against the dirt was easy enough. He grimaced while he held a brightly lit lantern farther in front of him, the steady sound of feet crunching snow and leaves growing louder. His black trench coat did little to camouflage him in the fallen colors of autumn but he wasn’t concerned about staying hidden. The man worried only for the life of his daughter and for the safety of travelers who could wander into the Beast’s trap and be made into solemn statues of sodden bark, only to get cut down and turned into the lantern’s fuel. The thought itself was enough to make him uncomfortable.

The noise of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by heavy breathing and the occasional croak. The lantern bearer’s mind was certain of the identities of the approaching group, an immediate memory flashing back into recollection. Two boys, one small with an encouraging smile and one elder, who kept in his lack of courage a cunning that had nearly convinced the man of the lantern’s true purpose, a talking bluebird that kept them together and a frog that seemed smarter than his appearance suggested. It was an interesting bunch, to say the least, but he was intent on keeping them out of the Beast’s reach more than ever before. Without them he would’ve still been lost, unable to see the truth that stayed hidden before his eyes.

Unable to allow the children to succumb to such a fate, the Woodsman took a deep breath before bellowing out a warning into the cooling air; the idea of a monster taking ahold of any of them made his heart sink with dread. It was against his will to stay silent and let them be captured by the embodiment of darkness. Even if they could escape on their own.

“Beware the Beast! His cold is coming! You must leave the Unknown! Go home, children! Return home!” The Woodsman’s voice echoed through the forest, the footsteps and heavy breathing from before pausing to let his cautionary command sink in. A moment of silence passed and a brief conversation could be heard, carried — yet muffled — by the wind. Then the faint noises that had been coming closer turned away and disappeared completely, leaving the Woodsman as he was before.

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Are you lonely, Woodsman?” that familiarly deep voice asked, a question that seemed all the more rhetorical than it actually was.

The man glanced over his shoulder, taking refuge from the blizzard’s strongest winds underneath an overhanging Edelwood. It seemed an inappropriate place to seek shelter but he didn’t have much of an option, seeing as the flimsy branches of other trees and unpredictable rock formations were hardly acceptable in keeping the chilly winds from penetrating what little warmth was left. Not to mention that his previous home had been restored to its former owner, along with whatever comforts it held within. Now he had to settle with what was available, be it the gnarled residue of a soul or a companion that seemed to be only a shadow. The snow and hail was hardly an issue for the Woodsman anymore. The Beast — on the other hand — was a different story.

“My feelings . . . they do not concern you,” the man replied, turning around completely to peer through the whitened landscape. It seemed less dark in the forest now that the storm had come but that didn’t prevent two glowing orbs from piercing the scene, digging its gaze into the Woodsman’s being. From far away they could quite easily be mistaken for a pair of lanterns blaring into the bleakness, searching for something that was missing. The comparison pained him to think about, knowing of a group of travelers that were doing just that. He dearly hoped that they had made it back safely.

“Oh, but they do. It’s my duty to make sure your daughter lives on and her flame burns brightly. I can’t have it going out, now can I?” the Beast said, stepping closer so the old man could see the blackness of his spindly form. “And if you aren’t feeling well then you may just decide to give up. I simply couldn’t let that happen.”

The Woodsman stood up, casting a saddened glance at the lantern. He hadn’t once considered abandoning his duties since their quarrel long ago, where he had nearly blown the flame out. Now he knew turning back was pointless. The only way to go was forward, chopping down as much Edelwood as he could and keeping his daughter alive. Now that the Beast was here to chat, he had another occupation as well.

“Why do you chose to talk now, Beast?” the man inquired, his voice slow and unhappy. It was a tone he used a lot lately, being somber and lonesome most of the time. “There was plenty of time to worry about that before . . . You have been hiding from me for a long while.”

“‘Hiding’? Oh, no, I would never do that,” the Beast objected genuinely, tilting his head to the side, dark antlers swaying as he did so. “Hiding is for the weak and cowardly. It is for those who do not have faith in their own ability. I am not one of those who uses the shadows for protection, a veil to mask what I do not want to be revealed. It is in reality a weapon in my hands. I can bend to my will what I feel needs altering and help the cause for the greater good. I’d think you would know that by now, Woodsman.”

The tired lumberjack let out a sigh, knowing that arguing would be of no effect. The monster was much too conceited to negotiate the limits of his actions, even if the Woodsman did agree to some extent of how righteous the Beast was. In fact, he was sure there was  _ some _ evil intent under that sincere gaze. It made his skin crawl.

“Call it what you may, Beast, but you haven’t proven anything,” the Woodsman countered, already feeling like slinking away to the hollow of his shelter. “I do not have the strength to consult with you the bearings of my life. It is already too hard to go on like this.”

“I am not here to pester you, Woodsman. I want to only help you find your way. It seems as though you have been quite . . .  _ busy _ lately, haven’t you?” he responded.

The old man didn’t reply, grimacing at the implication.

“You couldn't leave them alone. You didn’t even stop to ponder the consequences of interfering with the Unknown’s rules.  _ My _ rules,” the Beast spat, the coldness in his voice far surpassing that of the blizzard. “All for what? Do you really think helping those children would make your daughter happy? Would make  _ you _ happy?”

“She has a heart. She would’ve helped them if she were in my place,” the lumberjack responded, his anger gone completely, replaced with sadness. “It was all I could do to warn them.”

“You shouldn’t even bother, Woodsman,” the Beast advised. “I control this forest and the souls within it; I always have. You cannot break what is meant to be whole. It would be best if you only worried about yourself and that lantern. Nothing else is under your control.”

“Do not hurt those children, Beast. Do not do anything more than you already have.”

“I’ve done nothing at all, I’m afraid. I do not plan to. Those kids are not of concern anymore.”

The Woodsman blinked, surprised by the comment. Why should the Beast tell him not to interfere with their destinies if he weren’t going to involve with them in the future? Unless, of course, this was another point the glorified fiend was trying to convince him of, which displeased him greatly.

“What is your point, Beast?” the Woodsman asked. “I still do not know why you’ve decided to appear, now of all moments.”

“My  _ point _ is that you keep your lantern lit because there will be a day where the storm will try and snuff your daughter’s flame out. There will be a moment in which even the greatest heroes fall mercy to the chill of the gusts. In the Unknown’s time of hope the light will fade and bathe the entire forest in gloom. Keep yourself strong, Woodsman. Heed with caution the path you take in this world. For you only have one way to go if you are going to survive and not freeze with the desolation of brightness’ fire,” the Beast looked down upon the man, his stance sure of himself and rather foreboding. He then turned away, walking back into the cover of the falling snowflakes, his footprints covered before they could even be seen.

Carried by the wind was a voice, ominous and eerie, that made the hairs on the back of the Woodsman’s neck stand on end. This time it was clear, not disrupted by the blanket of trees and shrubs that had been there before. It made him nearly faint in terror. 

“ _ Woodsman _ , beware.  _ The lantern _ holds much, even as  _ it wanes _ , so stock up before the time comes. The flame only  _ needs Edelwood _ oil to stay bright during the blizzard that will devour the land without consent.  _ The light _ of the Unknown  _ will be no more _ and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”


	17. Aid in Permission

**Chapter 17: Aid in Permission**

 

Three exhausted humans and a frog stood panting, huddled against the doorway, fatigued and heavily soaked. They had just returned from their mission, the mud and cold precipitation drenching their clothes until the group shut themselves safely inside the mill-house. The warmer air and lively chatter gave comfort to them, their fast-beating hearts slowing pace as they relaxed.

Nancy was the first to notice them, her eyes suddenly wide as she exclaimed, “Look! It’s Beatrice! And those weird guys! They came back!”

Heads turned curiously, the same expressions of surprise overtook the rest of Beatrice’s siblings as well. A few even stood up from their seats, appearing to be completely shocked by Wirt and Greg’s recurrence. The previous uproar was reduced to a near silence before becoming loud once more, many children running up to greet the travelers.

“Hey! Why you here? I thought you taking them home!” Thomas cried, patting Beatrice lightly with his hand. “Ew! You all wet and freezing! Gross!”

The girl cast him a halfway irritated glance, stepping away. “We couldn’t make it. The storm started too soon. It was really bad out there.” She let out a huff, pushing her younger brother away. “And stop touching me!”

Thomas pouted, turning around and dashing off into the kitchen. His voice could be heard from the front of the house, alerting his parents of the source of the commotion. Meanwhile, the rest of the kids bombarded the trio with questions, demanding that they know the adventures Beatrice and her companions had while they were gone. Greg gratefully did his best to answer them, carrying his pet happily in his arms while trying to get some space in the small crowd.

Wirt watched as he removed his hat, doing his best to pat down his wet hair. By the time he found himself to be slightly presentable, Beatrice’s mother and father had already gathered the rest of the family at the dinner table, their faces more worried than glad to see them.

“Beatrice, dear, could you please have a seat at the table with us?” the woman requested, her oldest daughter setting down the sack and walking over, beckoning for Wirt and Greg to do the same.

The two boys pushed past a couple of the younger children, sitting down. The table itself was filled up with a larger variety of ages than it had been during the meals eaten with the family before. More chairs had been pulled up, allowing over half of the inhabitants to surround the table. Wirt found himself sitting next to Greg on his right and Lawrence on his left, the nine year-old’s face beaming with an eager smile.

It was Beatrice’s father that began talking, surprisingly. “You were late to return. We were getting worried about you. What happened out there?”

The redhead frowned, crossing her arms. “We tried retracing our steps. Made it all the way to the point where we met . . . and even farther. But the blizzard started too soon. We couldn’t even pinpoint a location and Wirt and Greg’s town never showed up. There wasn’t much more to do than to turn around and find some actual shelter. That’s . . . well, that’s pretty much it. We’re going to try again and find a map or something when the storm passes over.”

“Oh, Beatrice! That was such a dangerous thing to do! You could’ve gotten lost! What were you thinking, going out there blindly into the path of the storm?” her mother said. “And now Wirt and Gregory are all out of shape. Poor things . . .”

The elephant-dressed boy proved her point by resting his head on the table, his eyes blinking sleepily as he let out a large yawn. The girl groaned at that, her glare strong on her features. Greg didn’t see it though, absent-mindedly watching Gideon play with Caroline in the background.

“Um, we’re fine, miss,” Wirt attempted, trying hard not to ruin the effect by shivering. He hadn’t had much of a chance to dry, making that difficult to accomplish. “When the weather gets nicer then we’ll go looking for a map immediately. I mean, after that then we won’t be needing Beatrice to follow along, I guess.”

“Oh, but where would you three be finding one? Maps aren’t easy to come by, you know,” Beatrice’s mother wondered, restating the fears Wirt himself had. “The storms may worsen before you even have a chance to get one!”

Beatrice was silent so the male did his best to find his own answer, “I-I’m not sure, but there’s bound to be something out there. Maybe . . . maybe . . . we could —”

“I believe finding a map will be easier than you think,” the father of the household interjected, putting on an amused smile, his moustache quirking upwards with the action.

“What do you mean?” Beatrice’s mother asked, one eyebrow raised in challenging suspicion. “We don’t have any maps  _ here _ , do we?”

The man chuckled a bit, a hearty sound. “Not a one, dear. But I  _ do _ have an idea of where you might find one. Wirt, have you been to a small, odd tavern during your travels, perchance?”

“A-a tavern? We did stop by one, once,” he answered.

“Good. It was very lively inside, correct? People there of all types — a calligrapher, a toymaker, a tailor, a tavern keeper, a highwayman — very diverse, right?”

The gnome-dressed boy nodded.

“Well, while we were all bluebirds and looking for a hollow when our house was taken, I brought the family into that same tavern thinking it could lend us some protection. Of course, that many birds flying into the building at once caused quite a fright and they drove us out almost as soon as we’d arrived, but I caught a glimpse of a man and his boy, probably his apprentice, with a stack of parchment labeled with the places of the Unknown. I overheard piece of a conversation between them where they were discussing the previous trade they’d made for it. They said that the map would stay with them until they found a worthy hero to give it to,” Beatrice’s father explained. “I didn’t hear much else but maybe they’ll still have it and give it to you. My daughter always talked about how heroic you were to save your brother from the Beast, after all.”

“B-beatrice said that in front of all of you?” Wirt asked aloud, causing a certain redhead to flush harder than usual. “I’m really no hero . . .” 

“Yes you  _ are _ —n’t!” Beatrice blurted with passion, catching herself a moment too late. The brown-haired teen pretended not to notice the best he could, ignoring his own embarrassed blush across his cheeks and nose. Despite her attempt at being her usual, sharp self, Wirt caught her acceptance of him just as if she had admitted it sincerely. Besides, this was probably the most sincere she was going to get.

“Wirt is  _ my _ hero! Same with Jason Funderburker, too! Wirt is a really good big brother and always takes care of us even when we’re really heavy!” Greg beamed, showing that he was actually listening to the conversation and wanted to be a part of it. Standing from his chair to give the teen a loving hug, the smaller boy received the same gesture, the sweetness of it all making the older children in the room grin.

Wirt chuckled after the embrace was released, both of them sitting down once more. “I . . . Thank you. The tavern would probably be a good place to start looking. Plus, I’m sure that Greg and Beatrice can convince them that I’ll be able to use the map properly when they go along — if you let her go with us. Is she allowed to?”

Beatrice’s mother frowned, replying with an unsure tone, “I suppose it could be done . . . but the tavern is very far away. Beatrice won’t be able to return within the next few days at the least. It’s very dangerous.”

“Mom, we’ll be  _ fine. _ I can get them both there safely and return before you even start to worry. Really, it’s no problem,” the girl tried. “It’s not like you need me for anything useful here anyway. Amanda and Caleb can do the chores.”

The two siblings of choice cringed visibly, grimacing at the mention of additional work.

Beatrice’s mother sighed, torn between her choices. After a second of silence, she submitted. “You may travel with them until they are able to return home. Rest and prepare for the journey. But for now you will have to wait.”

Wirt took a deep breath, averting his gaze from the family to look out the window and into the snowy reaches beyond. The blizzard seemed to tear at the very being of the forest, battering the wood and glass with impressive strength. His insides clenched, anticipating what was to come with a sense of terror. The teen felt small and useless, much unlike the hero that he was supposed to be.  _ If we’re going to do this I’m going to need to be brave, _ he told himself.  _ Come on storm; show me what you’ve got. _ He flinched when a harshly aggressive gust threatened to break into the mill-house.  _ O-or just go away. Either works. _


	18. Onward

**Chapter 18: Onward**

 

It wasn’t until morning that they were able to leave. The blizzard had lasted the entire night, its windy fury attacking the mill-house until Wirt woke up the next day. Mounds of snow were left behind, the blankets of crunchy white proving to be quite the terrain, along with a frozen river that circled the premises, the covering on its surface so thick that it could carry an adult with ease. The trees past the clearing seemed bulked down with the added weight, ice and millions of snowflakes on the verge of making branches snap off completely. The winter air was frigid and painful to breathe, much less promising than the hints of spring that had ended the storms before. Overall, the teen could feel the pressure of the journey sitting on his shoulders, wariness taking over his senses as he stood at the doorway and faced the family that had taken care of them all for so long.

“Okay, you are free to go,” Beatrice’s mother said, scanning the trio and their frog with a slightly reluctant visage. “Just promise me you’ll be back before the season becomes too harsh and that you will find a proper place to sleep each night. We really wouldn’t want you to get sick or lost in the cold. And take some money with you.” 

The woman pulled out a few silver and bronze coins, handing them to her daughter. Beatrice smiled gratefully, depositing them in her sack, which was dry and filled with better, more sustainable supplies. This time they would have to be prepared for anything.

“Goodbye, Beatrice’s mom!” Greg beamed, waving a hand with joy. “We’re gonna really, really,  _ really _ miss you! And Gideon and Lawrence and Caroline and Polly and Victor and Nancy and Thomas and —”

“ _ Alright, _ Greg. We get it,” Beatrice snapped, irritated.

The boy glanced over, seemingly unhurt by the rude comment. “Oh.” He then continued to murmur names under his breath, the long list becoming an entertaining sing-song for him. Beatrice only frowned.

After another quick farewell, the group took off into the forest, on a new path to their destination. But to Wirt it felt like the journey had only just begun.

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Hey, is anyone else hungry? Besides me?” Wirt asked, walking alongside his companions as they traveled on a frost-bound dirt road. Greg continued along, chirping his tune from earlier and Beatrice simply gazed ahead, quiet. “So . . . uh, no?”

The brown-haired teen made a face, doing his best to cope with his empty stomach. His friend’s sack of food was becoming wildly tempting but he ignored his impulses. It was best not to slow the group down. Or annoy them.

A few moments of awkwardly silent traveling and his belly growled loudly, an embarrassed shade of red passing over his cheeks. Beatrice didn’t seem to care but Greg giggled, grinning. Wirt just kept going, trying hard not to react when the noise came again, more urgent. The redhead beside the teen cast him a tired glance, her posture stiff.

“Wirt . . .” she groaned. “You are such a pushover.”

“I-I’m sorry?” he attempted, rubbing the back of his collared neck.

The former bluebird shook her head in disapproval, causing Greg’s brother to shrug uncomfortably. Beatrice’s expression showed that it was a lost cause and she turned back to the road.

Wirt blinked, unsure of what she was getting at.  _ I really don’t understand anything right now. What was that about? And . . . I’m still hungry. _ Another growl reverberated through the forest, proving the gnome-dressed boy to be absolutely famished. It made him miserable.

“Beatrice! Beatrice!” Greg called, shaking the girl’s arm with his hand. “I’m really super hungry! So is Jason Funderburker! Let’s eat!”

The older boy watched, astonished, as Beatrice smiled and stopped, opening the sack up and handing the seven year-old a waffle and a small potato. She then got some for herself, the both of them setting down to eat on a fallen log.

“Um, don’t I get to eat?” he said to no avail. “O-okay . . . I’ll just stand here. And starve . . .”

“Pushover,” Beatrice mumbled, that same disapproving tone in her voice.

Wirt sighed, feeling doleful. 

“Hey! Don’t be sad, Wirt! Have some food! Food always cheers me up when I’m blue!” the teen’s younger brother offered, gesturing to the sack.

“I can just get some?” he responded, shocked when Beatrice nodded.

“Yup. Stop being a pushover, Wirt.”

The fifteen year-old male groaned, facepalming.  _ How did I not see that coming? _

 

o-o-o-o

 

Appetites now satisfied, the group continued forth, trekking through the slow-melting mush that appeared to encompass every inch of the area. The bright sun shone its rays from high above, basking them and the rest of the world in a dazzling light despite the lingering chill in the air. It was, in fact, a beautiful day, as it was every time the storms ended.

_ I wonder if we’ll ever be freed from the shackles of the weather, no longer having to be heartlessly teased by the creeping sun, _ Wirt lamented to himself, the single line of poetry calming him as he walked around a bend in the length of trees, the path twisting to reveal an open pasture filled with the remains of several harvested plantations.

Wooden, worn fences edged each plowed patch of ground and scattered leaves, a few pieces of broken pumpkin shells and empty corn husks littered the newly unburdened plain. Off in the distance was a small town, its shabby and warm atmosphere filling the travelers with a soft sense of belonging and, at the same time, unease.

“Pottsfield,” Wirt breathed, stepping forward to stop at the edge of the treeline. “It seems . . . nostalgic, somehow.”

His eyes floated across the land, observing the scene while still being distant. Memories and hopes filled his mind to the brim, the icy and damp landscape making the future seem unpredictable. The teen could feel the pleasantness of the afternoon through his lonesome daze, breaking his thoughts away from the cold for at least a while. 

Beside him, Greg looked at his brother curiously. “What does ‘nostalgic’ mean?”

Wirt glanced over, attempting to answer, “It means —”

“— that we’re going home together.” Beatrice finished for him.

Greg grinned back at her, happy with the answer. “And that’s a rock fact!” 

The child beamed, holding up his painted stone while Jason Funderburker ribbited contentedly from on top of his kettle. The two teenagers chuckled at his cheerful antics and the redhead made her way over to meet them, standing next to the brothers at the top of the hill.

Placing her palm on the seven year-old’s shoulder, Beatrice met Wirt’s gaze, a smile playing on her lips as she spoke. “You ready to rejoin civilization, dork?” 

The fake gnome returned the expression, a calm joy overtaking him. “I’m ready when you are, Beatrice.”

“Yeah! Let’s go and see the vegetable people!” Greg exclaimed, Jason croaking along to his ecstatic input.

Upbeat and jubilant to be on their way, the group headed down the steady slope towards the town. They moved mirthfully, eager to get there, their friendship shining through the strange emptiness that Pottsfield possessed. In a matter of moments their trip would come to a pause, wistful hearts appeased by the grander day.

It was time that they arrived.


	19. A Cat With Eyes of Gold

**Chapter 19: A Cat With Eyes of Gold**

 

The town felt different than it had before, a certain solemnity in the air carrying nothing but cold silence. Ligneous buildings stood in array, snow-covered roofs housing little more than small, unused furnishings and a few frosted cobwebs. Icicles strung themselves from the housetops; rows of crystallized dew layered the haystacks that leaned against the houses. No sound could be heard except the crunching of brittle ground and the swirling wind whistling between the walls, its ferocity blowing off the top layer of a hayrick and allowing it to become lost in the dry plains beyond.

Wirt cast a cautioned glance in front of him, catching the eye of a small black cat standing in the shadow of the town barn. The animal’s gaze was dark and intelligent, its maw tilted at just the perfect angle to produce the effect of a frown. 

It would’ve been easy for the gnome-dressed boy to pass the creature off as an important one if he hadn’t found his logic slurred with the recent occurrences, already finding himself eager to dismiss the look as a simple coincidence.  _ It wouldn’t be the first time this forest played tricks on me,  _ Wirt mused.  _ Besides, what cat doesn’t glare at strangers? _ He hadn’t the best of experiences with felines at home, the reason his family didn’t keep pets.

After a short moment of staring, the cat slunk away, padding from sight and deeper into the village, thin tail flicking. Wirt didn’t note it as anything remarkable, brushing off the quick encounter with ease.

“It’s quiet,” he noted, turning back to his companions.

The former bluebird stood rigid, discomfort apparent in her posture. She eyeballed Pottsfield with a frown, giving Wirt the feeling that something was very off.

Jason Funderburker looked rather uneasy as well, the frog making a frantic effort to escape Greg’s grasp. It didn’t take long for the amphibian to hop away, the boy exclaiming and running after his pet while Jason hurried in the direction of the barn. Wirt didn’t bother chasing after them, knowing that their frog had good reason to do what he did. Probably.

“Pottsfield is always quiet after the harvest season is over,” Beatrice explained with a soft voice, her expression distant. “Autumn’s gifts and beauty are what brings out the magic in the forest. It takes a lot of power so the rest of the seasons are used to recharge that magic . . . but nothing can recharge during winter. It’s the reason that the queen in the folktale was so against the Beast starting it. But since we don’t get much of this awful winter, nothing’s used to it. It feels like . . . well, it feels like the Unknown’s special atmosphere is draining away. Almost as if its magic is . . . dying.”

_ Dying? _ Wirt echoed, dread settling in at the thought.  _ Can . . . can magic do that? Is it possible to lose it in the Unknown? In the one place I’ve seen it exist? _ It didn’t  _ seem _ that impossible. Not with the fascination he’d felt before ebbing slowly away, with the stillness and the silence, the strangeness of everything being less strange.  _ Everything but the weather . . . _ Even in the month or so that he’s been in the forest, the Unknown was feeling a little more  _ known. _ Slightly more predictable. Slightly more normal. When he thought about it, not a single happening since the Beast’s encounter with them had been weird or spectacular. Not one.

A snowflake fell on Wirt’s nose, snapping him out of his train of thought. Wiping it off, it melting immediately with his touch, he glanced upwards and was discomforted to find that the incoming storm had already begun.

“W-we’d better go and take shelter,” the teenage boy advised, beginning to head towards the barn. He didn’t want to take a chance of staying in one of the shabby, unrepaired houses in fear that they wouldn’t hold up too well against the blizzard.  _ At least those villagers seem to keep the barn in shape. I mean, they do have to meet there every year. I wonder if they even live in these houses . . . I know turkeys do. _

Af if it were staged, a large bird barged out of the building next to him, the wooden door swinging open suddenly with the action. The oversized — yet notably smaller, for it only looked to be five feet tall — turkey let loose what sounded like a battle cry, causing Wirt to scream and retreat hectically, instinctively trying to flee. Not watching where he was going, he backed himself into a haystack, tripping and falling into the pile of dried grasses just as the great bird made an effort to come closer.  _ Oh no. _

The gnome-dressed teen saw its featherless head reach towards him, beak opening widely right in front of his face. His eyes clenched shut in fear. 

“Beatrice!  _ H-help! _ ”

Nothing.

Wirt opened his eyes again and saw that the turkey had already lost interest in him, the bird pecking curiously at a frozen bug on the ground. He then glanced over at Beatrice, who was snickering at him. 

The brown-haired boy scowled. 

Her smirk widened. 

Frowning, irritated and flushing profusely, Wirt stood up, brushing the hay from his cloak. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t embarrassing so he didn’t say much of anything, doing his best to act natural as he passed by the troublesome turkey for favor of the barn. Beatrice could be heard following him by the repetitive noise of her shoes smashing through frost and fresh snow, if not by her continuing laughter.

Wirt ignored her, only now questioning Greg’s whereabouts. He was about to call for his brother when he spotted him standing off the dirt path with Jason and the black cat from earlier. The plump seven year-old was suspiciously staring down the two animals as they conversed with non-readable  _ ‘meow’ _ s and  _ ‘rorop’ _ s.

“Greg . . . What’s going on?” Wirt asked, staring confusedly at the pair from afar. Only then did he notice the concerned stance of the cat and Jason’s terror-stricken demeanor. They appeared to get nothing from the exchange, though, both beings showing the same signs of miscomprehension.

“Jason Funderburker is trying to talk to this kitty but I don’t think they understand each other very well,” came the reply. “They’ve been trying to talk  _ forever. _ And if Jason Funderburker can’t talk then something is really wrong because he’s a special frog.”

“Oh . . .” Wirt said absently, watching as Jason croaked to no avail. After a while the frog turned away, looking dejected. The feline’s pelt stood on end but soon flattened, the cat dashing past the gnome-dressed boy and into the open doors of the barn. 

An extra cold blast of air reminded the teen that he and the others should do the same. Calling for Beatrice and his brother, he scooped up their somehow active amphibian in his arms and ran to hide from the storm in Pottsfield’s wooden centerpiece, yanking the doors shut behind the group with mild effort.

“Wirt. Look at this,” Beatrice said, pointing to the dried remains of a pumpkin suit leaning on hay. Its form was slumped and lifeless, the jack-o-lantern mask gone to reveal a skeleton head. The skull didn’t move or speak, all emotion gone from its bony face.

The teen sucked in a fast breath, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from the creepy being.  _ What? Why is it . . . not doing anything? _ The only light in the barn came from a small lantern sitting near it; a faint glow had been cast upon the empty creature, making Wirt shudder in unease.  _ And to think this guy was celebrating the harvest . . . _

“Hey! Lookie here! There’s the pumpkin leader!” Greg piped up from somewhere in the huge room. The fifteen year-old scanned the area, spotting the boy and the cat standing over a lump on the floor.

“Enoch . . .” Wirt said, peering into the darkness.

Pottsfield’s chief was no more than a huge balloon and a collection of grass — the once-imposing head showing itself to be only decorated rubber. There wasn’t a skeleton inside, like there was in all the others.

Jason Funderburker squirmed in the teen’s grasp to get a better look. Beatrice seemed just as aghast as Wirt, blinking to make sure the scene was real.

That was when the tom stepped forward, his golden gaze meaningful all of a sudden as he meowed and tapped the crumpled body. Pieces started being put together, the puzzle being solved.

But it was Greg who spoke. “Woah! The kitty is Enoch!”

The cat, Enoch, dipped his head in a sort of nod, raising it once more to stare at Wirt.  _ He-he’s a cat . . . He was a cat all along. _ It shouldn’t have surprised him. It did.

“Do you think he knows what’s going on with the weather?” the redhead beside him asked, voice at a hush.

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” Wirt replied.

The two kids walked up to meet Enoch, standing before the familiar costume with a new surety. Handing the frog to Greg, the fifteen year-old bent down to take in a better view of the inflatable pumpkin.  _ I wonder if this thing still works even though harvest season is over. Maybe he can use it to talk to us. _

The black-pelted tom watched as Wirt lifted it, scrutinizing every inch as he searched for a way to blow it up again. The top appeared much too rough and loose to make for a proper seal but there didn’t appear to be any other piece that would work.

Beatrice interrupted him before he could attempt anything, “It’s probably magical, Wirt.”

He frowned, putting it down. “Yeah. It would make sense. What can we do now? Enoch won’t be able to tell us hardly anything like this.”

Greg smiled at them. “Why don’t you just ask him to do it himself? He’ll know what to do! I believe in him!”

Enoch meowed, curling his tail over his paws as he sat, yellow orbs fixated on the familiar object. He seemed to be considering the options, weighing each one carefully. The tom then glanced up at them all, a silent question in his eyes.  _ “Why should I?” _

Wirt could tell that he knew already, for there wasn’t a hint of doubt, but he could already feel himself getting nervous. There was always a chance for failure.  _ What can we say to convince him that this is for a good cause? _ the teen worried.  _ We only have one shot at this . . . _ Another inspiration for poetry arrived at the wrong time, so he focused on reality, matching the cat’s look with his own.

“We have to go home, Enoch . . .” Wirt begun, “and the Beast is still out there. It’s not safe to travel anymore with the storms a-and I . . . I don’t know what’s going on. It’s not right here. The forest . . . the magic . . . We . . . We need to find a map and get to safety. It would help if you could tell us some things. Things about the weather and the Unknown. And the Beast. Please, Enoch.”

Beatrice held her breath. Greg beamed. Jason croaked. Enoch studied the group.

After the moment had been spent, the feline got up and wriggled into the head’s opening. Once his tail slipped inside, the entire suit came to life, balloon expanding and grass straightening as Enoch — the  _ real _ Enoch — tried to stand. He towered over them, that pleased yet eerie grin stretched over his features.

“Well then, children,” he started slowly, voice deep and human with traces of a Southern accent. “I’d reckon we don’t have long with the magic draining away. Pottsfield’s crops have been failing in this weather and that makes my job awfully hard. Can’t have a harvest if your vegetables don’t grow.” Enoch chuckled, a passive and sympathetic sound. “And there’s no harvest magic without the harvest. Oh, no. I’ve seen that Beast of yours wandering around, looking much stronger. Scares my turkeys to death, he does. I’d . . . say he’s . . . the one . . . ruining . . .”

Wirt’s eyes widened as the pumpkin man wavered like he couldn’t hold his own weight, plant tentacles falling limp one after another. Enoch’s head began to collapse, his contented expression taking on a sunken and morose look as he was dragged down. He hit the wooden floor with a thump, a mass of material, bereft of life except for the cat who poked his head out from the baggy costume.

“Thank you, Enoch,” the fake gnome said, still a bit shocked at the sudden failure to communicate.

The tom accepted the acknowledgement, climbing out of the mess to groom his dusty fur with a long tongue.

“So the Beast’s stronger now, huh?” Beatrice frowned, apprehensive. “That explains the storms.”

“That explains a lot, actually,” Wirt responded, bothered by the increasing danger.  _ Who knows if this will ever end? If the Beast’s gaining power to start this winter . . . how can we get home? _ “And with the magic fading I’m not sure what’s going to happen to everyone else. Your family, the people at the tavern, just . . . the Unknown. The entire forest is weakening.”  _ Like Enoch’s costume. _

“Hey, I think I figured out why Jason Funderburker couldn’t talk to Enoch!” the seven year-old exclaimed, swinging his frog in the air, which caused the amphibian's belly to glow faintly. “It’s because he lost his superpowers!”

Wirt smiled lightly, finding relief in the small sign that Auntie Whispers’ bell still held some unnatural ability. The magic wasn’t all gone. Although the theory held some competence too.  _ The frog did sing, after all. _

“I think we’re settled here,” Beatrice announced, stretching her arms above her head after she set the sack of supplies to lean against the wall next to one of the skeleton villagers. “Don’t know about you losers but I’m gonna sleep out the storm on a nice bed of hay. Night.” She made herself to the nearest pile, flopping down on it.

Wirt laughed, protesting with a smile, “But Beatrice, we haven’t even sang any bedtime songs yet!”

The redhead lifted an eyebrow. “‘Bedtime songs’?”

It didn’t take Greg more than that to get the message, his happy tune ringing out in the barn, breaking through the ominous quiet and melting away the icy mood. His brother joined in, the mirthful melody one he’d sung before. The duet was loud and peppy and soon no one could resist sharing in the rejoicing, not even the two animals and a grumpy girl. Meowing, ribbiting and singing created a music that lifted all woe and replaced it with something much better. Friendship.

 

_ “Sleepy eyes and tired sighs _

_ Go to bed but I never said! _

_ You’ll be wise once I advise, _

_ ‘There are bright days ahead! _

_ Let’s sing our song instead!’” _


	20. Teaching the Teacher

**Chapter 20: Teaching the Teacher**

 

Wirt sighed, walking along a snow-covered path in the midst of a frosted forest, faint sunlight peeking its way out from beneath the clouds. The group had left Enoch and the rest of Pottsfield long ago, but he could still feel the heaviness of the cat’s gaze on him as he traveled forth, a strange and piercing weight that threatened to stay on him and last forever. He ignored it the best he could, instead focusing on the path ahead.

A roughly built retaining wall edged each side of the group, the chilled woods being held back to the left and a rolling countryside on the right. In front of him were more trees and fallen leaves; the thickening stormclouds across the sky revealed the coming of another blizzard.  _ That’s weird . . .  _ Wirt remarked silently.  _ There was one last night and we’ve only been walking for a few hours at most. Strange. The storms must be nearing each other now that the Beast is strengthening them. _ He tried not to think about that either, turning to look at his companions.

Beatrice walked in the lead, her blue dress whipping in the wind as she led the two boys closer to their destination. Greg hummed to himself with Jason cuddled comfortably in his arms as he attempted to shield the frog from the worst of the bitter air.

“Hey, I think the storm’s arriving soon,” Wirt warned, hurrying to catch up with them. “We should find a place to settle down until it’s over.”

“Where should we go? I don’t see any shelter around here,” the former bluebird responded, gazing around. There was just forest around them at this point, no city in sight. Or a tavern.

“Uh, I’m not sure. Do you remember if we came this way before?” he said. “I mean, did we stop here?”

“I don’t know. What were we doing?”

“Well, we were going to find Adalaide and . . . hey, where’s Greg?” he interrupted himself.

Wirt looked around, confused at how the boy managed to disappear so easily.  _ He was just here! And humming, too! _

Beatrice stopped with an irritated scowl. “How do you always lose him?”

He shrugged sheepishly.

She groaned, glowering at him. “Go and find him, then.”

The two teens turned to the forest, calling out the boy’s name and listening to it echo around them as they headed off the path to search for their lost member.

Wirt was rather worried.  _ Those who wander into the deep may never return . . . The Beast is out there, waiting for the right moment to strike. Oh, Greg, why did you have to run off? _

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Greg! There you are!” Wirt exclaimed, relieved to find the boy and his frog sitting by a frosted creek as he attempted to drink from it with a cupped hand. “What are you doing, wandering off like that? It’s dangerous!”

The fake elephant shrugged. “I heard you and Beatrice talking about finding some place to get out of the storm so I had an idea that we could go someplace. But then I got thirsty and I was tired and I wanted to wait for you here.”

“You should tell us if you’re going to do anything, Greg. What if you got hurt?” he frowned, the seven year-old standing up and smiling at him.

“Don’t you worry! I’ll be a-okay! Plus, we got here in record time! You don’t have to feel cold and sad anymore!” Greg sympathized in a cheerful tone. “We can even listen to the band because music is  _ way _ better than school.”

_ ‘Music’? ‘School’? _ Wirt tilted his head, glancing up from his brother to see the schoolhouse sitting in the clearing where it had been before, red-painted walls and comfortable exterior hiding among the wintry scene. To the side was the stage they’d set up for the performances in attempt to raise money to keep the place open, empty of musicians and therefore without an audience.

Beatrice was standing near a basket that had been used to collect coins next to the setup, looking in it with a grimace. After a while, she opened up the supply sack and took out a few cents, dropping them in. The redhead met Wirt and Greg by the stream when her offering had been given, a sigh escaping her lips.

“The fundraising hasn’t been going well, has it?” Wirt asked, although he already knew the answer.

The former bluebird shook her head, more annoyed than sorrowful. “They’ve only got a little in there. I can’t believe people won’t donate much anymore just because of these storms. It’s to keep a school open! Don’t they care about what’s going to happen if it shuts down?”

“They have to care!” the youngest of the group cried out, his frog ribbiting in agreement. “My best friends live here and they need to keep their home! And their potatoes and molasses!”

Wirt exchanged glances with Beatrice.  _ But what can we do change it? _

Done lingering around, the storm above already releasing stray snowflakes, the children and their frog strolled up to the small building. Opening the sturdy, wooden door just as the bell rang to signal the start or end of class — which one Wirt couldn’t tell — they went inside.

It was tidy in the schoolhouse, the chairs spaced evenly and the window frames free of dust. The planks that made up the floor were clean, without litter or mud, the cream-colored walls just the same. The desk up front held a single, shiny apple upon its tabletop, the chalkboard behind it filled with letters and numbers, an obvious attempt to teach the class the alphabet and numerical system.  _ I’m glad to see they put the money to good use. _

The only difference that the scene held that Wirt noticed were the students — who were animals, their previous attire of casual clothing replaced by warmer wear like sweaters and scarves. A pig had his head setting on his desk; a deer chewed on her coat sleeve, boredom upon her features. Their classmates were just the same, uninterested in the lesson and learning nothing from the looks of it.

Miss Langtree, the teacher, a slim lady with a distinctive appearance of a typical Gibson Girl, stood at the front of her class, giving instruction. She was in the middle of explaining how to add numbers when a blond man walked into the room from the doorway that led to where the meals were served.

“I thought you were about done teachin’ around this time,” the newcomer, who the teen recognized as her husband-to-be, Jimmy Brown, said. “I mean, I don’t understand much of this newfangled school but the dismissing bell’s supposed to dismiss, isn’t it?”

The woman turned to him, almost pouting. “Oh, I know, but these children really do need their tutoring. They haven’t learned a thing and I’m not getting any progress. It doesn’t make a lick of sense with them doing so well before.” The teacher sighed, shaking her head sadly before turning back to her class. “Everyone, class is over. You may leave but be safe. I want to see you all promptly back for our next lesson. Tardies will not be accepted so you all need to be seated an hour sooner than mealtime. Goodbye and have a nice day!”

The animals didn’t stir, acting as if Miss Langtree hadn’t said anything at all. Or perhaps they simply weren’t listening.

Wirt looked over to his companions, taking in their uneasy expressions. He considered leaving the school with them and finding someplace else to stay so they wouldn’t need to get involved but quickly brushed the idea away, not only because of the storm but also for the well-being of the establishment.  _ I’m sure we can do something to help, _ the fake gnome justified.  _ And I think I might know the answer to this mystery. _

Beckoning his friends to follow, the teen made his way up to the front of the classroom, careful not to disturb the students; some of which were sleeping. Greg, however, didn’t feel the need to confront the adults with his brother and instead took to sitting in an empty seat with his frog, attempting to converse with an uninterested lamb.

“Leaving for the circus again?” Miss Langtree could be heard talking to Jimmy Brown when the teens tried to approach, caught in a conversation. “But you  _ just _ came back and I get oh-so lonely over here. The children could use your help and I just won’t take it if you disappeared before our marriage. Nope, it won’t do. Besides, Father is in town trying to find people to come to listen to our little concerts. He’ll be back with a generous crowd. I know he will! Please, don’t go.”

“Darlin’, you know that’s not gonna be enough. All the times before he came back with only a couple of them villagers and they donated less than you can sell a piece of chalk for. Not many people even get outta’ their houses with these unforgivin’ storms a comin’ and those that do won’t spare a cent’s worth to listen to the same old songs. I’d best be earnin’ us a livin’ while I still can.”

“You can’t, Jimmy! We’ll learn new songs! I’ve been trying to get the children to play them! They’ve practiced for weeks; I’m positive that we can get something done! Just you wait; Father will bring us a bunch of nice people to listen to their songs and the school will be safe. Our first few plays were wonderful, weren’t they? We had plenty of money! Even got the students new clothes to stay warm in this weather,” she protested, gesturing to the class. “We’ll have that again. We will!”

The man was about to reply when Wirt spoke up, not wanting to stand on the sidelines any longer, “E-excuse me?”

The adults glanced at him, startled by the sudden input. Miss Langtree was the first to reply. “What do you need, sweetheart? Class is over.”

“I . . . I know. Beatrice and my brother and I came to see if we could stay during the storm and we heard you talking about your . . . money problem and stuff,” he explained, feeling suddenly awkward to be interrupting grown-ups.  _ I was eavesdropping, too. _ The brown-headed boy offered a smile, a forced one at that. “I also might know why the students are having trouble learning.”

“ _ ‘Might’? _ ” the redhead beside him repeated, looking at him skeptically.

“I uh, I’d like to take a guess,” Wirt explained. “It’s seems likely enough, with everything we’ve been through so far.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, letting him continue.

“It’s because of the Beast. He’s been trying to drain the magic in the Unknown to make himself stronger, the reason the blizzards are here and why strange things don’t happen as much anymore,” he said. “Your students aren’t people so they shouldn’t be able to learn to count and spell and make music the same way we do. The only reason you’ve taught them so far is because that magic was there. Now that it’s going away they’re losing their abilities. I’m afraid a little extra work isn’t going to help at all. Soon . . . if all goes as the Beast has planned . . . then you may never be able to teach them again.”

Miss Langtree gasped, holding a hand dramatically in front of her mouth to conceal her shock. “That can’t be it at all! My students are the smartest and most talented children in all of the Unknown!  _ Magic _ can’t be involved! I taught them each myself. This is hard work and dedication, making sure our sweet young ones get their education. Animals can learn too, you know?”

Beside her, Jimmy looked thoughtful, blond brows furrowed in consideration. “That seems a might possible, though. This here class has been duller than ever since those fits of cold started comin’ along. Ya’ ever think that there’s more to reason than just a misfittin’ trainin’ session?”

The teacher frowned, removing her hand from her face to place it on her hip. “This explanation just won’t do, I’m afraid. I’ll never be convinced that our school isn’t responsible for the brightening of these fine minds.”

Wirt breathed out heavily, making a face.  _ What can I say now? She’s not going to understand unless the school gets closed down, but by then it’ll be too late. _ He settled with saying nothing, insanely glad when Beatrice spoke up for him.

“Lady, we’ve seen the Beast ourselves. We know what’s going on. So if you can’t believe us then that’s your problem. We’re only trying to warn you so you don’t waste your time with these animals and prepare yourself properly. The only way your students will ever learn something again is if the Beast gives the power back somehow or if the . . .” the former bluebird trailed off, holding back what she was about to say. “Nevermind. Try not to spend your efforts with these hopeless cases. I’d say this would be best if you could huddle down in this shack and wait until someone gets the magic back. Funding these services now would be to ruin your entire chance at keeping this place open. So don’t. You should have enough to buy some food at the town with what you have. Wasting it is a horrible idea.” She turned to Jimmy. “And don’t try and leave, either. That won’t turn out well for anyone.”

There was a moment of silence — excluding the background chatter Greg was producing — that lasted for many heartbeats, each person deep in their own mind. Wirt couldn’t tell what their reactions were, but he was rather appalled himself at Beatrice’s blunt manner.  _ I think it worked, though. They haven’t argued against her yet. That’s promising. _

The quiet between them was finally broken by Miss Langtree, who sighed, before saying, “That . . . makes sense. I’d normally scold you for having such a  _ disrespectful _ tone but you’ve brought up a valued point. Although, if this terrible  _ issue _ isn’t settled soon then I’ll be forced to continue doing my job. We don’t have long to stall before my students have to move on to their own independent lives. They deserve to be educated!”

“I’m seein’ promise in these children. They sound like some experienced heroes to be goin’ along talking back to us like they have. Seems a plum amazin’ idea to think they’ll be helping us out another time,” he mused, talking to his future wife. “I won’t head back to that circus if you’ll promise you won’t try an’ teach these critters no longer. Not until them storms are gone and our company returned.”

The brunette nodded half-reluctantly, agreeing with his compromise. “A-alright. I’ll give this idea a try, Jimmy. We’ll see to that it’s done.”

The couple hugged each other to signify that their feud was over, causing both Wirt and Beatrice to smile. That was when Miss Langtree’s head snapped up, remembering something important. “Oh! Father said he’d be back by now!”

Jimmy Brown jumped at the outburst, slapping the side of his head in realization. “By golly, you’re right! I need to get the meal ready! He could pop on in at any moment!” The man left the embrace, quickly shaking Wirt and Beatrice’s hands in thanks before leaving back the way he came to prepare dinner.

Miss Langtree spared a word of farewell to the teens, joining her class once more to ask them to prepare their band instruments in case there were visitors.

“I guess we can go and see what Greg is doing while we wait,” the gnome-dressed boy suggested, finding his brother next to the window, telling the group’s adventures in the forest to a thickly-layered pup.

“. . . and so Jason Funderburker started singing on the boat and I knew he could —” the seven year-old cut himself off, beaming at Wirt and Beatrice. “Hey! How did the talkie thing go?”

“Good, I guess,” Wirt replied nonchalantly. “They’re going to stop teaching here for a while because of the magic loss situation. The animals can’t earn any money for this school if they can’t learn more songs and people have pretty much quit coming to donate since the weather is so bad. Nothing will be able to get paid off if the magic doesn’t return soon, but the Beast is stealing it all.”

Greg pouted, holding his frog close as he fought the urge to cry. “That’s not good! All my animal friends are going to lose their home! This can’t happen! We’ll save them, though, won’t we? We can beat the Beast again! We can get the magic back! Let’s do it! Please?”

“No, no. Definitely not. It’s too dangerous.” Beatrice shook her head.

The boy’s eyes grew larger. “But we  _ have _ to! Or else our friends won’t even be able to be cozy when it snows!”

She didn’t budge, unfazed by Greg’s pleading. “We’re going to the tavern to get a map. Then you and Wirt are going home. That’s it. The Unknown will have to deal with the Beast without our help. This magical stuff is none of our business. Conversation over.”

No one tried to persuade her otherwise, the front door opening after a while to reveal a thin-faced man in a large coat that more than tripled his size walking into the room. His gray hair was covered in wintry precipitation and his lips were turning a pale blue, showing that he had been caught in the cold for a while. He shut the door almost immediately, no one else accompanying him.

“Father!” Miss Langtree greeted the man, running over to meet him at the entrance. “Are you alright? What happened while you were out?”

His voice was hoarse from breathing the bitter air, despair being the only emotion he could get across, “I-I’m fine, dear daughter. It’s snowing harder than ever. When I got to the town no one would leave their homes. They didn’t want to risk their safety to come out to this school. I’ve failed again . . .”

“Don’t worry; it’ll be alright now that we have a plan,” she soothed, leading him into the lunchroom while she explained the events of the day. After a while, the teacher poked her head back into the class, the school-bell ringing once. “Come now, children! It’s mealtime!”

Greg beamed at the mention, his troubles momentarily forgotten. “Yay! Time to chow down on some food!” The boy left his seat, heading into the other room.

Wirt was about to follow too when he noticed Beatrice blankly staring at some of the animals that didn’t get up, lost in thought. “Beatrice? Are you going to eat with us?”

The redhead was still for a heartbeat before giving a single nod, distant. “Yeah . . . I’m going.”

She stayed put, though, drifting away again. Wirt decided to leave her to her pondering, meeting the others at the table.  _ She’ll come when she feels like it, _ he decided, taking a seat near his brother.

Supper wasn’t as tasty as it could have been. Nevertheless, it wasn’t anything that molasses couldn’t fix. Beatrice entered soon after Wirt started eating, sitting down across from him wordlessly as she ate her own plate of food, supply sack in her lap. The adults sat to the side, enjoying their meals and conversation. Greg attempted to hold a one-sided chat with a rabbit. Wirt listened, not saying anything to anyone until he was full.

Soon after, it was time to go to bed. The group expressed their gratitude to Miss Langtree, Jimmy Brown and the teacher’s father and went to clean themselves up the best they could, heading off to sleep afterwards. 

Wirt’s mind was restless, though, as he tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. The darkness did more to scare him than to ease him into dreamland, portraying the Beast’s creepy shadows and refusing to let him relax. He listened to the howling wind outside and the snores of those around him, wondering when he would finally fall asleep. Poetry didn’t help, his discomforts too great.

Although, eventually, he found that he couldn’t remember anything any longer, the universe nothing more than a blackened void where not even he existed.


	21. To Be Dismal and Dreary

**Chapter 21: To Be Dismal and Dreary**

 

Wirt woke up to the bright light of day, blinking the grogginess from his eyes and sitting up in bed slowly, groaning quietly. His mind felt strangely weightless, not bogged down by the memories of a complicated dream. Around him, the animal students did their own thing, either sleeping or staring mindlessly at the ceiling or at one another. It was a peaceful morning in comparison to the night before, filled with a calming stillness that put a small smile on Wirt’s lips. That wasn’t enough to erase his worries, though, and he felt himself start to be bothered once more by what lay ahead in the Unknown’s future.

Glancing over to his brother, who was still resting beside him, the teen let his grin fall, knowing of the dangers that their path would definitely traverse over if they went and found the map like planned, leaving for home immediately. He then cast his gaze to Beatrice, whose red hair draped messily upon their pillow as she slept, reminded of the urgency of returning the peace in the forest before the Beast became too powerful. It seemed to be one or the other and he had hardly the heart to choose. If he  _ could _ choose.

_ What can I do to help anyway? _ he brooded, unable to decide between the options.  _ It’s not like I can go and get rid of the Beast myself, can I? Not to mention the last time I saw him he tried to turn Greg into an Edelwood tree and make me carry his lantern. That would be terrible if it happened again. But then . . . I don’t think anyone else is going to do anything about it with their fears and this weather. The Woodsman is obviously not willing to help. Now the Unknown’s magic is crumbling slowly away, the pieces falling into the gaping mouth of darkness, feeding his predatory hunger for power at every coming storm. _

Wirt took a deep breath, steadying himself. If only life could be simple.

_ But it isn’t, and we have to do what we think is right, _ the teen concluded, shaking Greg’s shoulder gently in attempt to awaken him. Large eyes opened to peer up at Wirt, sleepy and joyously innocent. Greg let loose a soft yawn that made the teen doubt himself even more.  _ What  _ is _ right, though? _

It seemed that he would never know.

 

o-o-o-o

 

The group left the schoolhouse soon after waking up, saying their goodbyes to the Langtrees and Jimmy Brown, wishing them well. Beatrice had led them on their way for most of the morning, effortlessly carrying the supply sack as she took them on the long path to the tavern. The sun’s rays reflected off of the white blankets of fresh snow, near-blinding at times. Empty branches reached for the sky, leafless and dark in contrast to their brighter surroundings.

The trees bunched more closely together. The dirt path was almost unidentifiable with the frosty leftovers of the storm and by the way it twisted wildly in front of them, going in many different directions to avoid parts of the forest. Wirt found that terrifyingly mysterious. If any sort of potentially dangerous monster or creature lived there then he wasn’t looking to discover what might happen if they had an encounter with it.  _ Especially _ if it could endure the failing enchantments in the Unknown and keep its ferocity sharp enough that they had to walk around its territory. Then again, the path had been made long before the storms began, showing no sign of being re-enforced. Maybe it wasn’t as treacherous in the forest as he had thought. But . . . maybe it was. He didn’t want to find out which was right.

“I’m cold,” Greg complained, puffing his breath out into his hands in attempt to warm them up. It didn’t do much, so the boy shivered, tucking them into his shirt sleeves instead. 

Above him, sitting upon Greg’s tea kettle, Jason Funderburker seemed to do just as well, eyes closing as if he were about to fall asleep then shooting open again. The frog shook himself every once in a while, seemingly trying to stay active enough not to fall into hibernation.

“We’re all cold, Greg,” Wirt told him, white mist escaping his lips and curling into the air with the statement. “We’ll just have to keep walking and hope we get there soon.”

“Okay . . .” his younger brother replied half-heartedly, quickening his pace.

The gnome-dressed boy did the same, ignoring the growing fatigue in his legs and feet for walking for so long without rest. They had agreed earlier that they would stop only when it was completely necessary since the tavern was so far away. It had taken nearly the entire day to get there the last time, and now, with the frequent storms and lacking a wagon to speed them along, it would undoubtedly take even longer. The group would have to hurry and hope they could somehow arrive before the next onslaught of winter did.

Stepping alongside Beatrice, Wirt glanced over at her curiously, wondering if he could spot signs of weakness in her usually tough composure. It was perhaps a low move, but Wirt was mentally and physically exhausted to the point where he really didn’t care — or think about it. Seeing the former bluebird at least slightly vulnerable would tell him things that he couldn’t quite get the answers to if he asked. She had appeared deep in thought the other day, of what he couldn’t tell. Now . . . if she looked to be a certain way, then maybe he’d find a clue as to what it was that had plagued her mind. Perhaps that would help him figure out how he should go about dealing with his own worries.

The redhead turned her head to look at him, a question in her eyes, laced with an undertone of suppressed wistfulness and fear. It showed in the way she tilted her eyebrows and gazed at him, revealing almost an entire conversation’s worth of information in the silent action. It wasn’t exactly as reassuring as he thought it would be. In fact, it made everything feel a whole lot worse.

“I guess we’re going to head our separate ways soon,” Wirt sighed, looking ahead once more, shoes crunching the frozen earth. “After we get that map it’ll be all over for real this time.”

“It should have been over a while ago,” the girl said. “I don’t know what’s going on all of a sudden. None of this feels right.”

The male nodded in agreement, turning past another bend in the trail.  _ Nothing has felt right for me for longer than that . . . _ he couldn’t help but think, narrowing his eyes against the biting wind,  _ and I don’t know if it’ll ever be again. _

“W-what about . . . your family?” Wirt stammered out. “And the Unknown? These storms aren’t regular; you’ve said it yourself. What’s going to happen? We can’t just  _ leave _ you all here to deal with the Beast, can we? I . . . I feel guilty for even thinking about myself for a second with all of these terrible things happening.”

“You’ve got to get Greg home while you can, Wirt. We can’t do anything more than help you two get back safely. You’ll just have to forget about the rest of us. Our troubles are our own,” she responded tartly.

He frowned, letting her end the talk like that. If Beatrice was so sure that they needed to get home then he’d do that.  _ But something tells me that she’s not as certain as she says she is. _

Wirt glanced up at the cloudy sky, watching the storm brew, its colors getting darker. It was in that moment that he decided that there were a few exceptions to his and his brother’s safety: when there was nothing to do other than confront the Beast and when fate chooses a small group of travelers to be the ones to rescue the forest.

Of course, they hadn’t come across either of those situations yet. Determination tugged at his heart and he prayed that one day they would.

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Hold on tight, Greg!” Wirt cried out, grabbing his brother’s hand in the midst of the blizzard. Snow blew fiercely across his vision to the point where he could hardly see, the whirling air buffeting him as he fought to keep going. He pulled his brother along with all his effort, hoping he was going the right way. The storm started a few hours after the sun started to begin its descent in the sky, the powerful furry catching the group by surprise. The teen had never been caught in weather as violent as this in his entire life. “Beatrice!  _ Beatrice! _ ”

Right after he called for his friend, the girl crashed into him, nearly toppling him over with the added power of the gusts. Some of her red hair came undone from her bun, the stray strands whipping Wirt in the face. He cringed away, only to get pelted by more hard clumps of snow.

“I’m right here, you dork,” she retorted, holding tightly to the supply sack that was threatening to fly out of her grip. “Now stop yelling and let’s get out of this storm.”

Standing together, they tried to continue forth, looking desperately for a place to stay. The trees around them creaked as they were pushed around by the blizzard. The path had become slick with ice, causing Greg to slip and almost fall. Jason croaked, eyes large and terror-filled when the kettle on top of the boy’s head blew off. Beatrice luckily caught him, although the moment was enough for her to let go of the bag she was carrying, the pale material getting lost in the snow. She frustratedly cried out, diving blindly after it with the frog and metal object still in her hands. Wirt almost left Greg and followed her to make sure they were safe; however, he stopped himself, knowing that that would be a bad idea. The girl appeared exceptionally soon, tussled but otherwise fine. Jason Funderburker appeared to be mortally terrified. Wirt didn’t blame him.

“Almost lost this thing,” she commented with a shrug, handing the amphibian and Greg’s cap over to the older brother while she tied the sack’s opening around her wrist, ignoring the severeness of the weather.

Wirt didn’t say anything, shocked by her immediate success. They carried on once she was done. 

The next moments were a rather painful struggle, but the group was forceful and persistent enough to survive the blow. Beatrice and the boys didn’t dare stop to rest in the open and the surrounding forest was just as unforgivable as the blizzard. It was a miracle that they managed to make it as far as they did, still alive and acting with logic.

The gnome-dressed boy finally had to pause their journey, catching his breath under the temporary shelter of a large tree. His muscles ached with numbness and he felt his head spinning from exertion. Thankfully, they were sheltered from the swirling wind by the huge trunk, if only for the minute. Beatrice appeared rather irritated, her nose and ears distinctly pink. Greg cuddled his frog, warming him. Wirt finally straightened himself, ready to head off again.

That was when they heard it: “Isn’t this beautiful, Woodsman? The storm is quite powerful; I feel that the effort is finally becoming worthwhile.”

“You know I disagree with your methods, Beast.”

“I also know you’re too insignificant to do anything about it. I shall grow stronger and the light will fail while you labor away, keeping your lantern lit. One day I am going to win this fight and crush her; it’ll be over and the Unknown will bask in my eternal glory.”

A pause. The snow flew around the tree and battered them all the same, the freezing temperatures seeping through their uselessly thin layer of clothes. Wirt peered suspiciously into the vision-obscuring tempest, trying to see the sources of the talking through the weather. He wanted to be sure his ears weren’t deceiving him, falsely confirming to the fifteen year-old that his misgivings had been placed correctly under the stress of the situation.

“There is no glory in what you are doing. You will destroy us all!”

“Oh, you worry too much, Woodsman. I have plans and they’ll fall into place easily. You and your kind can just huddle about like you’ve been doing until my work is complete. Besides . . . I believe things will get  _ much _ better once these simple acts have met their mark.”

The teen’s eyes widened as he caught a very vague resemblance of a man and another figure in the distance just as a deep, slow laugh resounded, carried by the gusts.

“I don’t believe you! You’re trying to hurt her! Why must you torment me? My daughter . . .”

“Silence! I would encourage you to listen if you want to survive. Heed my warnings while I offer them! This impasse is about to end faster than you could ever conceive. Gather fuel and stay warm because the wait will soon be over . . . and I’ll come out on top. Farewell, Woodsman.”

Those two white pinpricks caught Wirt’s gaze for a short moment before getting lost again in the thick snowfall, voices fading away as the Beast left; the Woodsman settled into a fearful quiet. Wirt could hear footsteps crunching the brittle ground, a long way off, before that was also gone, the boy and his companions alone in the forest once more.

Greg squeezed his older brother’s hand, looking up at him with terror and dread. He had heard the exchange too. Wirt returned the gesture, glancing towards Beatrice, mouth pressed into a thin line.  _ It doesn’t sound like there’s much time left before the Beast completes his terrible plot. What’s going to happen to  _ you?  _ To this forest if we don’t do something? _

She seemed to understand his meaning but stubbornly didn’t say anything, continuing to walk the rest of the way to the tavern.

He followed after that, speechless, allowing his thoughts to satisfy his mood. The elder brother tugged the younger’s hand again to lend him what little strength he had, although both of them seemed to be rooted into the hard ground. Each step was burdened, unsure, confidence lost. They kept going.

Wirt scowled at the ruthless landscape, shuddering from the frigidity, bitter poetry ringing in his mind,  _ Harsh are the shadows that penetrate deep, breaking through the comforts that we used to rest and bask in. Now it is raw, tough and confined, the world no more than a dark cave that shelters a ravenous beast. Sitting still is a crippled thing; hope is left to be devoured with stinging fangs like icicles and taken away from those of us who wait for its safe return. Vanquished is the future, the brightness gone. We are the only remains of a greater morrow, but we are on a separate path to destiny’s end. Going away from the land of fervent wishes . . . leaving to never return. _


	22. It’s Who You Are

**Chapter 22: It’s Who You Are**

 

“We’ve made it,” Wirt breathed, setting his tired gaze on the building before him, darkened by the now-empty clouds that casted nighttime shadows upon the tall stone walls. The last few particles of the storm drifted down to Earth, settling on the wintry landscape and causing a chill to shoot through the teen’s already freezing body.

Next to him, Greg murmured something inaudible, his eyelids drooping from the lateness and how spent he was. He leaned on his older brother for warmth and relief, subtle tremors being given out in response to the cold.

Ahead of them both, Beatrice trudged up to the tavern, frowning. Her gaze darted around the small clearing, peering into the shaded areas with evident apprehension and dismay.

The brothers followed, pace weighted down by the previous events, their worn-out shoes dragging through thick layers of ice and snow. Wirt fought the urge to collapse once they reached the front door, letting Beatrice lead the way in. Her hand closed around the knob, turning it. Except, instead of opening, the round handle only rattled, not moving much either way.

“They locked it,” the redhead hissed, hastily slamming her fist a few times on the large surface. “Hey! Let us in! Anyone there?” She knocked again, harder. “Open up!”

The brown-haired teen was sure that it would break soon if not for the small click that resounded on the other side. Beatrice, attempting the doorknob again, was pleased to find that it worked. She stepped inside. Wirt and Greg did, too.

The interior of the tavern wasn’t much brighter than the outside, lit up a brick fireplace and a couple of small lanterns and candles. An Old English sheepdog laid on the floor, snoozing. Sitting down around a large, circular table were adults of various appearances and a child, all huddled together in what looked to be conversation. Their eyes, however, were locked on the newcomers in unease and curiosity.

A woman in a maid’s outfit stood by the doorway, her black bangs dull from where they peeped out from beneath her bonnet. Her face was pulled into a concerned grimace, voice squeaky when she spoke. “What do you kids think you’re doing out there this late at night?” she admonished immediately. “The storm seemed to blow the sense out of you! You’re cold! Rest up and come in! And shut that door. We wouldn’t want to be caught with snow inside, now would we?”

Wirt did as he was told, surprised by the drastic change in the air now that they were in a heated room that was closed off from the weather. Even Beatrice appeared relieved, her endurance of the polar temperatures seeming not as abnormally tough as it had been before.

Greg left the rest of them, favoring an unoccupied seat at the edge of the commotion. He set his head down in his arms, all sign of activity gone. Wirt turned his eyes away, looking back at the diverse collection of people.

One of them, a baker, interrupted the lady’s next statement with a scowl, “Who are you three? What are you up to? This blizzard is foul! I don’t know nobody who’d travel in one like that!”

_ He doesn’t remember me, _ Wirt realized with vague shock.  _ I remember _ him.

Of course, he remembered about everyone in the Unknown. It was hard not to with such strange characters walking about. The variety beat his high school’s by a long shot.

“My name is Wirt and we’ve — um, Beatrice and my brother, Greg — come here in search of a map. We came here before to get some directions if any of you remember,” he supplied, suddenly awkward.

The entire tavern vibrated with hushed words, spoken fast and jumbled together. After a minute, a calm and commanding voice rang out above them all.

“You’re the Pilgrim who left to save your friend from the Beast, aren’t you?”

The speaker was a well-dressed man with neat, brown hair who had a rope tying his waist to that of a blond and equally well-dressed boy. It was the master and his apprentice, the two people the group really needed to see.

The fifteen year-old cleared his throat, receiving a skeptical glance from the redhead beside him. He could explain what she missed later. “Yeah, that’s me . . . I’m the . . . pilgrim guy.”

Immediately, the gathered men and women got to their feet, yelling questions and comments while they crowded around Wirt and Beatrice.

“What happened out there?”

“Your bluebird friend! Is she alright?”

“Such a brave soul!”

“What do you need a map for?”

“Seeing you return makes me sad . . .”

“Did you confront the Beast?”

Instinctively, the teen reached for Beatrice’s hand, clutching it in case the pressing mass made them separate. It was an automatic response he’d developed when watching over Greg that didn’t seem to understand that they were in a relatively small building and his friend could undoubtedly take care of herself without Wirt’s intrusion. Although, it did make him feel better.

“Look what we have here! You got yourself a girl after all!” the cheerful toymaker chuckled, puffing out his cheeks in amusement. “How’d you do it without using my advice, I wonder?”

“Wh-what?” Wirt stammered, flushing in strong mortification. He became acutely aware of his hand grasping Beatrice’s and let go of it, retreating back a few steps. “N-no, I didn’t . . . We’re n-not . . .”

“Your  _ ‘advice’? _ ” Beatrice asked without a hint of Wirt’s embarrassment. She appeared more exasperated than anything, turning to face the shorter fifteen year-old. “What exactly was going on last time we were here?”

“I-it —” the gnome-dressed boy fought for words, recalling the scene from his memories with a brighter blush. He really didn’t want to mention that at the time the advice was directed to wooing  _ Adelaide, _ of all people. And it didn’t help that he was currently going through issues himself dealing with Sara. “It was a misunderstanding. He called me a . . .  _ young lover _ because I couldn’t explain myself properly and tried to uh . . . correct me so I could . . . be a better person, I guess.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow. That’s what happens when I put you in charge of directions.”

Wirt chuckled nervously in response, wanting dearly for someone to interfere. Luckily, the tavern keeper parted the crowd, calling the two over to the newly unoccupied table. The male didn’t hesitate to take a seat, finding himself extremely relieved to be resting after the long day of travel. Also, Beatrice and the toymaker couldn’t prod any longer. Well, for now, at least. That would have to do.

The redhead sat down beside him and the rest of the tavern’s inhabitants lingered near, wanting to listen but not get in their space. Wirt cracked an uncharacteristic smile, finding it to be funny that they suddenly cared about their preferences.

No one seemed to notice. He decided to ignore that.

“Now, I’m sorry about everyone’s rowdiness. It’s been hard in the Tavern and all of us are a bit worked up,” the tavern keeper apologised with a shake of her head. “What is it that you needed again, Pilgrim?”

“A . . . map of the Unknown, if possible,” he repeated. “I heard from someone that one of you might have it.” Wirt stared at the master as he talked, the meaning obvious.

Acting as if she didn’t notice, the woman looked around the room, projecting her high-pitched voice to them all. If they couldn’t hear her before — which he highly doubted with everybody so fascinated with his return — they could definitely hear her now. “Who has a map of this forest? The Pilgrim is in search of one! This is our chance to aid a fearless soul and his friends!”

Surprisingly, it was the highwayman who made his presence known. The small criminal walked briskly up to the table, placing his hairy claws on the sturdy wood, a menacing threat edging his scowl. His voice was deep and gruff, his masked eyes narrowed with cynicism. “What do you need it for,  _ Pilgrim? _ What are you doing looking for such a rare item?”

Wirt felt himself shrinking in his seat, wondering what it was that had spoiled the man’s mood so horribly.  _ It’s probably the storm . . . _ he attempted, failing in his attempt to mollify the situation.

“Answer me,” the highwayman growled.

The teen found himself wishing the robber wasn’t glaring at him with such distrust and loathing. Wirt swallowed from the leer itself, mouth dry. He couldn’t talk, instead casting Beatrice an anxious glance, a plea of sorts.

“Who are you to ask?” the girl beside him snapped in Wirt’s defense, gleaming with protectiveness. “We want a map. Either you have it or you don’t.”

That almost seemed to work, the man not used to being talked to that way. Wirt nearly sighed at her support, easily startled when the red-clad adult knocked over an empty mug that had been sitting on the tabletop; the glass clinked on the floorboards but didn’t break.

“I’m the Highwayman,” he said, angry. “I can ask for whatever I want. I used to be able to  _ get _ whatever I wanted but your beloved Pilgrim stole my horse! For what? To save a useless, good-for-nothing bird? I’m stuck in this dump until I can get Fred back! But now I can’t do that, either, with these blasted storms! The Beast needs to pay! This  _ Pilgrim _ needs to pay! Now you’re telling me to let him —  _ all _ of you — just walk away with a valuable treasure? Again?” The highwayman grimaced, his knuckles turning white as he leaned closer to Wirt, pulsing with rage. “I’m not going to let that happen. You’re going to give me a  _ perfect _ reason right now of why you should have it or three ends will be met and I’ll have a new pet frog and whatever else I feel like scavenging from your belongings. All in the length of the night, too.”

Beatrice held her tongue, the warning severe enough to keep her from saying something worth regretting. Wirt didn’t have the courage to be glad about that, terror running free in his veins.

“W-we’re trying to . . . t-to find a way out of the Unknown to save my . . . my brother and let him go back home. I-I need to go back, too . . .” the gnome-dressed boy began, receiving a dissatisfied yell from the highwayman.

“ _ Selfish! _ ” the man cried out, expression contorted in an ugly manner. “I think you’ll be better off here, don’t you? You and your brother can stay in this Tavern forever! It’s just as I thought! You don’t  _ deserve _ the map. You didn’t deserve my horse, either. Maybe it’s time to end this.”

The rest of the people in the tavern stood distressed or shocked, none of them thinking to interfere. They knew that getting involved would only worsen the conflict. Greg was thankfully still asleep with his frog, unable to hear them. At least, Wirt hoped so.

“And maybe it’s time that you open your ears and listen,” Beatrice rebuked, voice shaking only the tiniest bit. “They’re not the only ones who’d benefit. The rest of us would as well.”

Silence. Not even Wirt knew what she was hinting at.  _ How can it help everyone else if we go back home? What can it do for them? _

Since no one else was opposing her, she continued, “We have to travel through the Unknown to find their town and we’re already in opposition of the Beast. He really hates these guys. By knowing the land and where everything lies a bit better, we could lure him into a trap and take back what’s ours. The Beast won’t give up a second chance to drain Wirt and Greg’s energy. With a map to know a good place to set this up and a plan, we could confront him again and win. The storms would stop. The magic would return. The forest would be safe. Isn’t that enough to risk a try? Even if we fail, the danger won’t change. It’ll be like nothing ever happened. What use is a map if you’re stuck indoors, anyway?”

The criminal glared at her for a moment, speechless. His body language softened. “You’re the Realist, aren’t you?”

The redhead blinked. “The what?”

He turned away darkly, walking back into the crowd to be lost in their midst. “You make sense, Realist. I expect you’ll go far in this world. Just watch how you talk to people. You’ll never know how sly and skillful they are with their hands until you’ve already been knocked into darkness.”

Wirt shuddered, the words prickling the back of his mind. He looked over at a confused and determined Beatrice.  _ She actually wants to do something about the Beast. I thought she might but . . . like  _ this? _ Is it wise? _ He shot himself down, reminding himself of her point.  _ It has to be. The Beast can’t be left to grow any longer. We’ve got to act. No matter what. _

Stepping forward was the master and the apprentice, looking gloomy and serious. They both sat down in front of the two teens, their eyes intelligently grave as they took their new-found heroes in.

“You are worthy,” he declared, “to have in your possession the only map we have. We ask that in return you’ll follow along with your word and fight for the Unknown. The Beast cannot stand any longer. Is it agreed?”

They both nodded.

The master gestured to the blond child, prompting the apprentice to pull out a roll of parchment from the inside of his frilly coat. He set it on the table and his master unrolled it, revealing a very detailed representation of the tavern and other surrounding towns, showing landforms and other notable places with impressive artistry. It was a bird’s eye view, labeled in neat handwriting. A compass rose sat in the far corner along with a vague measurement to tell the travel time it would take on foot. Everything was hand-drawn and in black ink, the results of many days of hard work and dedication.

The two children were mesmerized by its vastness. Wirt especially, as he was searching for his town’s name on the map.  _ Okay, so there’s Pottsfield . . . and past that is Beatrice’s home . . . that’s the part of the forest we came from . . . _ He trailed his eyes over the nearest words. Not one was a town he’d heard of before. He expanded his search, reading more unfamiliar names. Seeing more trees. More of the Unknown. Then, the map ended, the pictures flooding off the page. There was no way that he wandered that far away from his town. From Aberdale. 

But he had to be sure. Wirt compared the distance from the edge of the map to the closest area he remembered walking in with the travel time. A month. It would have taken an entire  _ month _ to get to the mill-house at its least, according to the map. That wouldn’t have been possible. They were only traveling for a part of the night from what he recalled.

“T-this doesn’t make sense. Are you sure this is right?” Wirt asked worriedly, hoping it was outdated.

The master replied with certainty, “It is. Our trading partners told us that it was made within the last year and they went to check again to make sure it’s accurate as possible.”

He frowned, facing Beatrice. “I . . . I’m not sure I’m  _ from _ here. Where am I?”

“In the Unknown,” she replied, mirroring his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t have taken Greg here. We hadn’t been gone that long. Maybe enough to get lost but  _ over a month? _ ” he shook his head with a sigh. “Impossible. We . . . We must be in a place we’d never been able to go before. A different  _ world, _ maybe. Aberdale isn’t here. The magic of this place must’ve pulled us in without us knowing. I can’t believe . . . What’s going to happen to Greg?”

The former bluebird put a comforting arm over his shoulders. “It’ll be fine, Wirt. You’ll find a way back. There’s always a way. If we can’t go there then we can try something else. Someone should know what we can do.”

_ But who? _ He racked his memory for possible allies, the face of a pale, sickly, yet sweet girl and her adopted aunt shining brightly in his memories. “That’s it. We can see Auntie Whispers. She’s Adelaide’s sister that lives in the woods. She helped us out once after you . . . um,  _ Greg and I _ left.”

“ _ Adelaide’s _ sister? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I wouldn’t trust her, even if she helped you. And why have I not been told before about this?”

“I didn’t think it was important,” he answered sheepishly, “but that doesn’t really matter right now. She’s good; I promise. Last time she warned us about an evil spirit and I saved her adopted niece from it. We’ll be on her side, plus, she knows a lot about magic. Maybe she could help us find our home . . . or even tell us how to save the Unknown and confront the Beast. It would be a place to start.”

Beatrice made a face, considering it. “I guess we don’t have much more of a choice . . . Although I don’t feel good about going to see anyone involved with Adelaide. Won’t she care if she finds out that I . . . what happened to her sister?”

Wirt lowered his gaze, doubting his suggestion.  _ But what else is there to do? _ “We’ll have to hope not,” he replied. “Adelaide worked for the Beast. Auntie Whispers even warned us about her. Other than that, well, we’ve gotta take the chance that it’ll be okay.”

The redhead hesitated for a moment, letting her bare arm fall back to her side. Then, she stood from her comfortable chair reluctantly, motioning for Wirt to do the same. “Fine, but if we’re really doing this crazy thing then we’re not going to be able to miss a second. Let’s go. The storm just stopped. We should have enough time to get past this part of the forest and find some shelter before the next one.”

The teen stood, smiling although he was exhausted and sleepy. “You’re actually coming with us? Even though you told your family you’d go home?”

“Of course I am, you dork,” she responded, punching him lightly with her free hand, the other holding the supply sack. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“You promised your mom that you’d return to the mill-house right after we got the map.”

“Well . . .” Beatrice grinned mischievously, waving the bag she was carrying with a wink, “ _ you _ don’t have the map. So I’m technically still keeping my word.”

Wirt could hardly hold back his joy at hearing that. The group wouldn’t have to split up after all. Turning to the master and his apprentice, he said, “We’re going to leave now. Thanks for the help.”

The master acknowledged him, rolling up the parchment once more and giving it to his apprentice to bestow it to them. “I wish you success, Pilgrim.”

“As do I. Go out there and be the hero you are! To you, Realist, as well,” the blond child spoke with passion, passing it to her outstretched hand for her to stash away. “And to the other boy, Pilgrim’s brother. He is a Free Spirit to have slept through our troubles. All of you have strength!”

Wirt almost choked on his gratitude. Beatrice seemed to be just as taken by their warm release, although her posture hinted that she didn’t want anyone to know that. With the map in her possession, she left to get Greg, allowing Wirt to tend to the crowd.

“Thank you . . .” he began, talking not only to the master and apprentice, but also to everyone else in the room. “We’ll do our very best to stop the Beast’s evils. We’re going to head off tonight to find some magical assistance and return the Unknown to its former state! All of you have been so generous to help. We won’t let you down.”

Cheers ascended from all around him, clapping and whooping and eager comments echoing off the walls. Off to the side, his younger sibling was stirring, asking Beatrice questions in a soft voice while he turned his sleepy and curious eyes to the bustling tavern. 

Wirt took in the people in the room as well, musing to himself and walking to the door while they exploded with enthusiasm,  _ I don’t know how much we’ll be able to do, but we won’t give up without a try. I’m a pilgrim yet I’m also a dreamer. Our destinies are settled. I can see that’s there’s still a chance. To victory! _

Beatrice and Greg met him at the entrance, the smaller boy carrying his frog as usual.

“You ready?” the former bluebird asked him.

“As I’ll ever be.”

They looked at the collection of people one last time, being told encouraging things and such. Farewells exchanged and faith restored, the three and their frog made their way out of the inn, leaving the reassuring chatter behind as they started the long walk to their next destination under the moonlight.

A free spirit, a realist and a pilgrim dreamer ambled deeper into the night, finding themselves, again, on an adventure to recover something more than just a place in the world. Perhaps it was even a journey beyond the well-being of the Unknown. Closer still they came, the darkness around them nothing in comparison to the beaming stars above, glittering pinpoints of light that dissipated the shadows around them. It was a glorious moment. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be their last.


	23. Rich With Truth

**Chapter 23: Rich With Truth**

 

The grandly ornate golden gates of Quincy Endicott and Margueritte Grey’s mansion stood in front of the group, the only thing separating them from true shelter. It had been a long and hard night, one that threatened to pull Wirt and the rest of them down with the impending storm and their rapidly growing exhaustion. Already, the sky was tinted in a pink light, the sun beginning to rise, the start of a new day. They hadn’t slept; they hadn’t even the chance to doze during the trek. Greg was practically dragged along and kept to stand by Wirt, who was only enduring his own tribulations due to the urgency of finding refuge before the next blizzard. They were all dirtied and numb from the constant movement through the forest. It was a miracle that they were standing before the gates of a safe haven, awake — well,  _ half _ -awake — and with all their possessions at hand.

Beatrice couldn't wait any longer, patience thin as she tugged open the unlocked barred doors, slipping on the brick walkway in her haste. The two brothers stumbled after her, trying not to fall while they traversed the frost-slick ground.

As they came closer to the large building, with its ice-encased decorative greenery and intricate architectural tastes, the peeping heads of Endicott’s peacocks poked out from inside a few of the windows to look at the newcomers curiously. A couple of the birds pecked at the foggy glass. Wirt looked away, nervously biting the inside of his cheek. The meager amounts of pain took his mind off of his intense fatigue for the moment.

Stepping on the porch, they each knocked, waiting for a familiar face to come out and greet them. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long at all before the door swung open to reveal a man. A second passed where he narrowed his eyes in curious suspicion but a flash of recognition soon came to him, the gray-haired male grinning widely.

“If it isn’t my two favorite nephews!” Quincy smiled, opening his arms out wide in joy as he received them in his home. “I thought I might’ve gone crazy when I saw you all at Margueritte and my doorstep! Like . . . Like you’re ghosts come to haunt me!” The eccentric man chuckled to himself, stepping back so they could walk in and then blocking them almost immediately, a distrusting impulse of sorts. “But that’s ridiculous, yes?”

“Something like that, good sir!” Greg responded while he forced his eyes to stay open by holding the lids back with his hands. “We’re sleepy as can be! Might as well be ghosts! But I’m no floaty thing so I guess I’m out of luck.”

That seemed to be enough to satisfy Quincy, who stepped aside with another bright quirk of his lips. “Come! Come! Family and friends are always welcome here in our extremely large and luxurious house! The more the merrier! Company is a treasure! Not that we don’t already have plenty of that . . .”

With mumbled appreciation, Wirt and the others filed into the mansion, shutting the door afterwards. They were standing in a large ballroom of sorts, a Georgian-styled candlelight chandelier hanging unlit from the tall ceiling. The wooden floor was covered by an intricate rug, elegant and sharp against the many halls that branched off from the room. Light filtered in through the windows, the morning shadows being washed away in a flood of color.

“Goodnight! I’m going to bed right now even if it’s morning!” Wirt’s sleepy brother yawned, flopping down to lie on the comfortable-looking carpet, Jason Funderburker in his arms. The frog was drowsy too, having watched over them during the journey.

“Greg! Not on the floor . . .” the gnome-dressed boy scolded, hurrying over to pull him up off the ground despite his own want do the same.

“You nephews of mine must be worn to the bone, poor lads!” the male of the household averred once the seven year-old was standing again. “Please, take a snooze in one of our many guest rooms! I’ll show you the way and later we can have a jolly time together, this reunion will be! A jolly, fun time!”

“Thanks, that’d be great,” Beatrice replied politely, gazing around the huge building. “Where is the lady and that horse?”

“Margueritte is tending to the animals right now, on the other side of the mansion. She’s a wonderful and sweet woman. I knew it was right that we stayed together! I have to thank my nephews here again for helping us find each other. I am very grateful! Gratified, indeed!” Quincy started down the third opening to the right, prompting the others to follow as they walked. He picked up a candle off of a desk in one of the smaller rooms, needing it to light some of the darker paths.

“That’s good,” Wirt said, not really listening. He was afraid that he’d pass out right in the middle of the hall if they didn’t get to bed soon. Greg appeared to have already done that. The fifteen year-old shook him from his short slumber, trying not to fall behind. Getting lost in this maze of a house wouldn’t be fun, especially in the dark. Quincy and Beatrice were a good distance ahead of them, chattering about something Wirt didn’t bother to eavesdrop on.

Picking up the pace, they followed the man for a bit as he lit up the hallways with his candle, the surrounding blackness deepening as they journeyed in further. Corners turned to the point where Wirt was unbelievably disoriented, all sense of direction lost. They finally stopped at a similar doorway in comparison to the others that they passed. There was no indication that it was different by its appearance, although it could have simply seemed that way because of how overwhelmed and confused the teen was.

“Here we are!” Quincy announced proudly, opening the door to reveal a surprisingly exquisite bedroom with a huge bed and dresser. There weren’t any windows but there was a skylight, revealing the churning clouds and allowing the sunlight above to pour through. “You sleep well and I’ll prepare a feast for celebration for when you wake! If you need anything then find me or Margueritte! We’ll be wandering about, enjoying our royal living standards as always! Dream of good things!” He stepped back into the hall, letting them by.

Wirt and Greg didn’t hesitate to enter, but when Beatrice started forward, Quincy stopped her.

“Hey! What gives?” she huffed, crossing her arms with the supply sack hanging limply from her hand.

“Young lady, you deserve to be kept separate from these boys. I’ll take you to another room; it’s only proper!” he replied, declaring it as if the subject was one unarguable.

“No way! I’m not leaving them in there! What if they get hurt or something? Wirt can’t prevent himself from getting a concussion on his own,” the girl protested, receiving an indignant cry from the object of the conversation. “Besides, I’ve slept near them  _ bunches _ of times. We travel together. And I have six brothers at home so I  _ think _ I know how to deal with guys.”

The gray-haired man gave her a wavering look, caught between his options. “Margueritte will be back to check on you all shortly, then. But I’ll admit it’s no trouble to give you a separate room!”

“No thanks. I’m good.” Beatrice shook her head at the offer, pushing past him to meet the teen and his sibling. Quincy stood watching them for a short while, then turned around, taking his candle and heading back the way they came, leaving the door open. The redhead almost walked over to shut it, except she was held back by Wirt, who was frowning softly.

“We shouldn’t make him think that we can’t be trusted,” the gnome-dressed boy advised, taking off his cone-shaped hat to set on the dresser. His hair was undeniably mussed; he could feel it sticking up at awkward angles even as he grazed the space between it and the air. Wirt attempted to pat it down, using the conveniently-placed large mirror on top of the wooden counter to help him. It wasn’t perfect, but after a few seconds he decided it was somewhat decent. Taking off his cape to place beside it, Wirt marveled at the strangeness of seeing himself without his costume, something that hadn’t been done for a while.  _ I think I got used to looking like that . . . _ He smiled, silently laughing at how attached he’d become to the Unknown. Even his self-image wanted to stay a part of the forest. He doubted that he’d ever be able to throw out the clothes he wore on his journey when he got home, no matter how unfitting or messy they were; they held too many memories.

“Wirt! Are you going to sleep or not?” Beatrice asked from behind him, already in the bed with Greg snoring quietly beside her. She had listened to his warning, leaving the entrance to the room unblocked.

“Yeah,” he said, fixing a stray bit of his hair one last time.

“Then stop staring at yourself and get over here. Quincy said that Margueritte will be here soon and I don’t want you falling over when we start moving again.” The girl undid her abstract bun, throwing the unraveled hair-tie on top of the supply sack that rested on the floor. Beatrice then closed her eyes, turning towards the edge of the mattress, facing the far wall.

Wirt didn’t see her open them when he walked over to sleep as well, making for the other end of the bed, allowing Greg to lie between them. The younger boy had already said his goodnights.

Slipping under the covers, Wirt laid his head on the pillow, his exhaustion crashing down upon him instantly. It didn’t stop the words from slipping away, though, a comfort engulfing him suddenly as he spoke, “Goodnight, Beatrice.”

He thought she didn’t hear him, having fallen into slumberland like his brother. Then, after a brief silence: “Goodnight, Wirt.”

He found that not dreaming of good things was impossible.

 

o-o-o-o

 

Margueritte retrieved the children later that day, having offered to wash their clothing and get them cleaned up for dinner. All of that was done with little protest, them being well-rested and in a positive mood. Even Jason Funderburker was grinning in his weird frog way.

Once made proper, their escort took them to the dining room in Quincy’s portion of the mansion — although they considered the entire building to be part of a shared ownership — and sat them in their seats. Food was already served on the table, and despite the two calling it a  _ feast _ , there were hardly any leftovers when each person had had their plate’s worth.

The bizarre man sat at one end, Margueritte placing herself opposite him on the other. Wirt, Greg and Beatrice ate on the length of it as before, devouring their meal with famished gulps. Living off waffles and potatoes wasn’t exactly the best way to get by when traveling for days on end.

“So, why  _ are _ you here, dears?” the woman asked them when Beatrice explained that they didn’t just come for a visit.

“We’re going to get home . . . and stop the Beast,” Wirt, not wearing his cloak and hat, answered with a steady resolve, poking a slightly dried-out pea with his fork. “We had to find a place to shelter from the blizzards and came by here thinking you both might take us in for a while. Also, I was hoping to find some information to help us.”

“ _ You _ want to stop the Beast?” Quincy appeared both shocked and thrilled. “Why, that seems a spectacular challenge! A hearty task for a good soul and his companions! If it’s care and information you’re in need of, I have no issue! Throw your troubles at me! I’ll see what I can do with my expansive memory and wonderful variety of sources!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” the redhead sitting beside Wirt admitted. “I was thinking that they wouldn’t be able to tell us anything.”

_ Me too, _ he replied silently, not wanting to say it aloud. If they couldn’t even tell the difference between a ghost and a living person, he doubted that they could offer sufficient background on a problem that most everyone had forgotten.

“I can tell you more than you’d imagine, my fine friend! I have lived during the days of the Beast’s creation,” the old male offered, receiving a disbelieving stare from Beatrice and a beaming smile from Greg.

“And  _ I _ have many books in the library that tell of the revealed parts of the story,” Margueritte added. “You can take a look at them later.”

Wirt nodded in acknowledgement, turning to Quincy. “I’ve only heard a folktale about this. Did you really live during that time? It must have been so long ago.”

“It was!” he confirmed, flinging his hands into the air to gesture to the glorious dining room. “And, believe it or not, this mansion right here used to be part of . . . of a palace!”

“That’s amazing, Unkie!” Greg offered, throwing his arms up as well and causing a bite of food to splatter ungracefully on the table.

“Greg! Watch what you’re doing,” the elder brother scolded, cleaning up the mess with his napkin.

The seven year-old boy just laughed, smiling.

“It‘s the same place, coincidentally, that the Beast lived in when he was the king! How’s that for you, young adventurer?” Quincy Endicott grinned, but not without a hint of worry etched across his features. “Someti—Sometimes I wonder if . . . if he might come back to get me for being here! That’s . . . That’s absurd, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Beatrice muttered, sounding sarcastic.

“What did you say, lassie?” The man let his hands fall to the table, rattling the plate in front of him.

Shrugging doubtfully, the former bluebird attempted in a more respectful tone, “I just mean . . . maybe the Beast wouldn’t be interested in returning anymore. He ran away for a reason and hasn’t came here since, right? Plus, he’s a  _ beast _ now. There isn’t any point.”

“No  _ point? _ ” he scoffed, his hands in the air once more. “There’s plenty point! There’s point enough to go around! Do you  _ know _ what I know? Can you imagine even the slightest bit of the  _ terror _ and unforgiving  _ betrayal _ that plagued this lavish homestead when the Unknown became something more horrible than we could ever conceive? No, my friend, there is a point. And when that monster decides to take back his throne, the blizzards will have their hold on me! I’ll be yet another icicle hanging from his twisted Edelwood perch!”

“Unless . . .” the redhead prompted after having reached a conclusion, her brows furrowed in seriousness as she waited for Quincy to finish.

“Aha, yes. Unless you and my trusted nephews can do something about it. Stop the Beast, boys! Stop the Beast!” Standing on his chair, the man made a dramatic effort to rally the crowd. Predictably, only Greg had the lack of sense to join in, the seven year-old standing up on his own, cheering encouragements.

Wirt found his appetite diminished once the two became rowdy and the teen left his food, tugging on his brother’s arm and making the boy get off his chair. Beatrice, somehow done eating, didn’t sit for much longer.

“Where are you going, children?” Quincy questioned. “I was having the nicest time offering my incentives! Don’t you want to know more about this mansion? About the endless quantity of riches I’ve collected over the years?”

“It was interesting, but we can’t stay for long,” he explained, making his way over to Marguerite's end of the table. “I thought that maybe we could check out your library really fast before we go. Is that alright?”

The woman nodded, standing gracefully with a considerate curtsy. “It would be perfectly fine. I’ll be glad to take you, like I said I would. Would you all follow me?” she directed, heading towards the far exit, opening the double doors. “Quincy, dear, I’ll return to help with the cleaning. You settle now.”

“But of course!” the man bowed with a smile, lowering himself to the ground. “I shall wait patiently for your return. Hope you find what you need, nephews and friend!”

They left for the library immediately. 

 

o-o-o-o

 

The room was a vast one, style impressive and collections extensive. Margueritte showed the children around for a moment before leaving them to search on their own. 

Greg didn’t do a lot to help, playing with Jason Funderburker and warming him up instead of reading. Wirt and Beatrice went to work as soon as they grabbed enough documents to settle down, the latter squinting uncomfortably at the near-indecipherable letters. It seemed as if the evening was melting away, and still, the tale was told in the same mannerisms, keeping along the lines of the former bluebird’s descriptions without sufficient info to sustain them. Some were even vaguer, the wordings confusing. Wirt was surprised anyone could write hundreds of pages of an event that couldn’t have lasted as long as it seemed. 

He popped his back, focusing again on the words in front of him, a circle of events that gave him nothing. Beatrice didn’t seem to be faring any better. The day would surely be gone if it took them any longer. Luckily, it didn’t.

“Beatrice! I found an extra part of the story in this one! Come look!” the fifteen year-old boy told her in excited relief, pointing to the book he had laid out on the desk, its contents lit up by the orange glow of a candlelight.

“Of  _ course _ you did,” she sighed, rolling her eyes at him and slamming shut the text she was looking through. The former bluebird came over, peeking around Wirt’s shoulder. Greg was already sitting at the table and was watching with distant, wide eyes.

“This was written a long time ago and is probably pretty accurate. You can tell because the pages are brittle and stained with age,” he said matter-of-factly, producing a disinterested groan from the girl.

“Get  _ on _ with it.”

He pretended not to notice her rudeness, continuing, “I read through it, and here it says:  _ ‘With the promise of hope in the reaches of the land, an angel of bright clashed against a wicked spectre. Dusk had not wrought anything save for challenge for the new people, the many who survived their lives’ affairs and were brought into the Unknown place without much memory. They came for centuries upon moons upon sunrises, lost amidst their troubles that were no more. When the beauty was returned for one a time, the black of night reserved, they became trapped and scared, unable, the two unforgiving masses of disquiet. Despite all effort, none returned to their distant land, caught in the rift between born deities whose division prevented the magic from allowing them passage back. When the battle is won, there will be a way, as has been for as long as history has supplied.’ _ ”

Beatrice bit back a laugh at the tone he used when reading, the narrative sounding like a poem. “Goodness, Wirt. Who knew you could read a boring old record like that? You made it  _ even worse. _ ”

He huffed, “T-that’s how I read. Besides, it’s . . . it’s not important. What  _ is _ is us finding out what this is trying to say.” The frog sitting in his brother’s arms bounded forward, peering at the page as if he could read it. Ribbiting, the amphibian frowned, looking at the passage again before letting Greg grab him once more. Wirt decided to shrug it off.

“So . . . we need to get rid of the Beast,” Beatrice shrugged. “I thought we knew that already. What’s so special about this?”

_ It should be obvious . . . _ Wirt pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on from the long time reading paired with the inadequate lighting and stress of having to translate the text. And he thought  _ Beatrice _ was old-fashioned. “It’s basically explaining that people who come from . . . my world, I guess, are trapped in the Unknown unless the Beast is taken care of. We won’t be able to go home.”

“Yes, Wirt, we have that figured out already. Bye-bye Beast and everything goes back to normal.” She gestured to the air with her hands, acting as if the situation wasn’t significant at all.

He shook his head at her, not knowing what exactly was causing him to feel the way he did. Something was just  _ off _ about it. As if their problems couldn’t be solved as easily as it seemed they could. It wasn’t right.

“Hey, Beatrice?” the youngest in the room asked, blinking up at her.

“What?”

“Why can’t the Woodsman just beat the Beast himself?” Greg suggested. “He’s a powerful old man. I think he can do it if I can.”

“The  _ Woodsman? _ That useless guy?” she retorted. “If he could he should have done it already. After what happened last encounter, I don’t think anyone’d have reason  _ not _ to blow the lantern out.”

The boy tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe he didn’t know. What if he couldn’t figure it out in time? Sometimes I don’t pick an answer on my tests at school because all of the choices sound good. So I leave them all blank. If I pick one then the others are wrong even if they’re right. Teachers don’t understand that and I get bad grades sometimes but dad tells me it’s okay even though I don’t believe it. Maybe the Woodsman is like that too.”

“You think so?” Wirt smiled, considering Greg’s observance. “It sounds like a possibility. I’m sure the Woodsman just couldn’t put the clues together in time due to pressure. If we can find him and convince him to blow it out, we might be able to stop the storms from worsening and get home sooner. Plus, I think he’s following us. To make sure we’re safe, probably. We saw him close by, didn’t we? He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Beatrice grumbled under her breath, “Fine, whatever, Wirt. But how are we even going to g—”

“I can help you.”

The redhead started, whipping around, her startled and frustrated gaze meeting that of a gray horse. Wirt blinked.  _ Fred? _

“Great.  _ Now _ you show up,” she huffed, crossing her arms in irritation. “Where have you been all this time?”

The peculiar, talking equine managed to shrug, standing between two of the bookshelves. “I dunno . . . Around, I guess.”

“You can help us?” the gnome-dressed boy revisited the topic before Beatrice could divert it further.

“Uh-huh. I saw the Woodsman in the forest. He’s a creepy guy . . . following you, probably wanting to take your stuff . . .” Fred trailed off, eyeing the supply sack with a familiar temptation. Beatrice caught the look and pulled the bag closer to her, obvious in her attempt to hide the map in case someone got any ideas. The stallion shook the look away, focusing. “I’m a tea horse now. A  _ tea _ horse.”

“Right . . .” the girl huffed. “Are you going to take us to him?”

“Sure. I need to exercise more.”

“But you’re a  _ horse. _ ”

Fred nodded convincingly. Greg stood from his chair and — with Jason Funderburker atop his head — climbed onto Fred’s back.

“No, bad Greg. Get off,” Wirt scolded. “You can’t ride a horse inside a mansion.”

Beatrice smirked smugly, hopping behind the teen’s younger brother and mounting the steed with ease. “Alright, Fred! We’re going on an adventure!”

“Yeah!” the youngest cheered, arms waving happily. “Adventure! Adventure!”

The horse didn’t seem to care about what Wirt had said, trotting out of the library, his riders ducking to avoid the doorway. Unamused by their disobedience, the fifteen year-old male left the book open and took its lighting with him, hurrying to catch up with the group. The clacking of hooves against the tile floor echoed through the darkened halls. Wirt thought it sounded at least a tad ominous. The rest of the evening was bound to be daunting.

 

o-o-o-o

 

He was really there.

The many blankets of snow and ice did nothing to conceal the aged man, the Beast’s lantern glowing brightly under the thick cover of the forest’s shadows. Fred whinnied from underneath the three, brown mane swinging as he shied away from the figure.

“Hm . . . I dunno about this,” the horse worried, halting in his tracks. “He’s standing right there . . . You can just go on without me . . .”

“Don’t be a wimp, Fred,” Beatrice huffed, dismounting anyway. Her hand firmly held onto the supply sack, not letting go even as a strong wind swept across the forest floor. Its strength shook the frozen branches and they clashed together; scattered shards of broken icicles and frost carried into the frigid air. She didn’t even shiver.

The Woodsman’s light vanished behind a tree for a moment, reappearing with a brighter glow. Wirt jumped off of the stallion and held his pointed hat to his head. His gaze was locked on the shining pinpoint, growing in both size and intensity.  _ I hope that’s only in perspective . . . _ He wasn’t so sure about that.

“Stay here,” Wirt warned his brother, who gave a thumbs-up of understanding before embracing his frog and scooting closer to the steed’s long neck in attempt to stay out of the worst of the cold.

“Be careful . . .” Fred frowned, cringing. “Safety first . . .”

He tried not to think about it. Clasping hands with Beatrice only half out of habit, the two began their descent further into the dark reaches beyond. The Woodsman looked as if he were stopping; the beaming flame in his grasp paused as well, staying at its same size, albeit a bit larger.  _ Definitely _ larger.

“You should not have come, children,” the lumberjack’s shape shook as he spoke, rattling the hinges of the lantern. “You must return home before it is too late!”

“We have to talk to you!” the gnome-dressed teen exclaimed, him and Beatrice approaching further, perhaps hesitantly.

“There is no time, boy! You and the others will be lost . . . forever! Return to your home! Leave this place!”

“We-we can’t. Not unless you blow out that lantern!”

The Woodsman’s eyes widened for a heartbeat; what could be seen of his visage was terror in its finest. He began to back up at a slow pace, feet moving in reverse, one pained step at a time. His arm quickly shifted to the front of the Beast’s essence, blocking most of the light from view. The trees creaked beside him.

Wirt let go of Beatrice’s hand, focused on the man and determined not to fail again. The safety of the Unknown and his brother depended on it. Lunging forward, the fifteen year-old tried to grab at the object, ignoring his own fear for the while. The elder male was tall enough to hold it out of reach, his reaction a fast one.

“You cannot do that! Child, you don’t understand the consequences!”

Wirt swiped at it again, despite the obvious uselessness of his actions. “I’m sorry, but you’re confused! It’s our only way home! It’s the only way the Beast can be defeated! If you don’t, you-you’ll —”

The Woodsman smote him without warning, a blow that sent the teen reeling until he crashed into an oak tree and slid haphazardly to the ground. Wirt moaned, his vision blurring from hurt. His impact wasn’t a soft one.  _ H-he . . . hit me . . . _ Confusion and distress swirled within the boy.

“Wirt! Wirt, are you okay?” his friend cried out, running to his side. He felt her grab his shoulder — the one he landed on, apparently — and check to make sure he didn’t have any severe injuries. Her sigh of relief made him assume that he didn’t.

“What was that for?” Beatrice snapped, anger radiating towards the old man. “You’re a horrible monster! Wirt was trying to  _ help  _ you!”

Grimacing with torn emotion, the Woodsman shook his head, eyeing the boy with a grave melancholy. “Forgive me, but I do what I must to protect my daughter. She is all I have left . . .” he explained, voice cracking with angst. “I do not wish to harm you. The Beast has spoken to me . . . He says that if I do not stop opposing his evils then he’ll blow her out himself. I cannot allow it.”

“The Beast  _ is _ the lantern! He’s been  _ lying _ to you! How could you believe that nonsense?”

A pause. “That cannot be; I’ve known the Beast for a very long time. He may have a way with words but he does not lie.”

Wirt fought to stand, leaning against the redhead. It felt like the world was warping, although it could have just been his migraine playing tricks on his senses.

“You’re blind!  _ Listen _ to me, old man!” Beatrice was screaming at this point. “You have to blow that accursed lantern out or the entire forest will freeze! Use your head and  _ stop _ all of this!”

“No! It is impossible! If I do, my daughter will . . . I cannot take the chance!” Tears were streaming down his face and crystallizing from the extreme cold. He was heaving with a father’s passion to protect, his expression full of agony, when the lantern blasted out a flurry of white, blinding Wirt and Beatrice.

The two teenagers flinched as an increasing amount of snow came crashing out of the side of their section of the woods, bringing with it a fierce wind and making it hard to stay standing. Any outside sound was drowned out by the sudden blizzard. After a while, they seemed to gather their bearings, although their sight was greatly impaired.

“We have to get back to Greg!” Wirt yelled, fighting the swirling world around him. Beside him, Beatrice was hurrying to get back as well, brow furrowed. She cast one last glance at where the Woodsman was standing only moments before and clenched her fist, taking the lead.

Wirt’s brother, the horse and their frog were still there, waiting for them. Wirt found himself grateful that he had Fred stop near their destination, which didn’t take too long to reach.

“It’s all wintery right now!” the seven year-old commented with a cheerful smile, the equine under him not looking so happy.

“Yeah, we’ve got to get out of here,” Wirt said, hopping on the stallion’s back. Beatrice was already seated in front of him, using the supply sack to block some of the precipitation from hitting Greg.

“Makes sense to me,” Fred nodded beneath them, galloping the path to Endicott’s mansion.

The trip back was tiring for them all, but they made it. Soon they were all inside the spacious house and plenty warm, being tended to by its two curious owners.

“An unsuccessful quest is not the end! Am I right, laddie?” Quincy was musing once Wirt was all cleaned up.

The brown-haired boy nodded. “We’ll find him again. We won’t give up.”

“That’s my heroic nephew!” The man pat him on the back and sent him off for the day.

When Wirt made it to his shared room, he found Beatrice checking the map. She had managed to keep it dry. Well — close enough.

“We’re going to Adelaide’s sister’s house next?” she asked, looking up as Greg tucked Jason Funderburker in bed.

“Yes. Auntie . . . Um, Whispers’ house.”

“Then get to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be tough and you’ll need to rest. I’ve already prepared the supplies we’ll need for the next week or so, thanks to Margueritte. We should be all set.”

Smiling, Wirt gave the former bluebird an unexpected hug, breaking it soon after. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Beatrice. Goodnight.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes, putting the detailed parchment away. “Sweet dreams, dork. You’ve done as much. Now go to bed. The night will be over before you know it.”

The boy chuckled in amusement, allowing his eyes to reach towards the skylight. A few clouds were clearing away to reveal the stars. They were gleaming with promise.

Their light would never fade if he could help it; he would be sure of that.


	24. Telling Secrets

**Chapter 24: Telling Secrets**

 

“Hard as a rock!” Beatrice hissed out in distaste, stepping back from the frozen river. “Well that’s just fantastic. How are we supposed to get across now?”

Wirt hummed quietly, guiding his brother along as he walked down the bank of the waterway. The snowstorms had left a wintery curse on the landscape, making the ground brittle and the only path to their destination unsafe to take. He prodded the chilled surface as his companion did, testing if it could hold his weight. The icy cover creaked dangerously.  _ I am _ not  _ falling underwater again. _ He retreated to safer terrain.

“A  _ weak _ rock,” she corrected herself.

“And that’s a rock fact!” Greg concluded, patting the top of his frog’s head. Jason Funderburker ribbited slowly. “We better hurry up and get on that boat. I think he’s getting sleepy.”

“There is no boat, Greg. It’s not the right kind of weather for the ferry to be running,” Wirt explained. “We’re going to have to walk. Maybe there will be a good place to cross up ahead.”

The redhead looked troubled. “What if there’s not?”

“We’ll take our chances.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

“I miss Unkie’s big ol’, warm ol’, toasty ol’ . . .” the youngest of the band mourned as they trekked yet another stretch of riverfront. The teens had tested the strength of the ice every reasonable distance or so, but their bodies had become numb before the odds were friendly. Wirt felt like turning back too, though he knew he couldn’t. None of them could.

“This is brutal,” the former bluebird complained, switching the sack to her other hand and pressing forward. “Evil Beast, making my life hard. I cannot wait until I put an end to winter. I won’t have to look at snow or ice ever again.”

“That sounds nice,” Wirt said, shivering as the wind started to change direction. The meal he ate earlier sat cold in his stomach. The brief rest hadn’t been as enjoyable as he hoped.

“. . . comfy ol’ house of his. Beatrice, are we gonna go back soon? My tummy hurts. I’m tired,” Greg frowned, puffing out his breath. “What about you, Wirt? Want to leave now?”

“Don’t ever give up,” replied the male, smiling softly. “It was you who told me that.”

“He’s right. We can’t fail now,” Beatrice said. She exchanged glances with the boy’s brother, walking at a quicker pace. They all fought to keep it up.

When the sky started to dim, they took a momentary break. While Greg was being refreshed by provisions and the pause in travel, the gnome-dressed boy headed to check the condition of the river. He used his shoe to tap on the exterior layer, gasping when it held firm.

“Hey! I think we might be able to cross here!” he called back, causing Beatrice to jump up in mild shock before he started walking the expanse. “It’s so thick here that all I can see is ice! We can cr— _ cross! _ ”

“Dork! Watch your step!” she laughed at him, grabbing Greg’s wrist and hurrying him to the riverside. Wirt was picking himself up, having slipped and fallen. “Well, if it can hold your load of clumsiness then we should be perfectly fine.”

The fifteen year-old made a face that turned into a smile. Waiting until they had made it as far as him, he took the lead, trying his best not to slip again. Greg acted somehow optimistic throughout the entire thing, despite the fact that he had wanted to stop only moments ago.

“Slippery, slippery! Slide right over to the other side! This is fun!” the kid grinned until they stopped. “Oh, are we done already?”

“Yeah. W-we did it,” Wirt said breathlessly, touching land on the other side. “You’re welcome, Beatrice.”

“Hold your ego a bit, will you?” she retorted characteristically, turning around. “Should I check the map?”

He shrugged. “Are we lost?”

“Frog boat, dead ahead!” Greg pointed upstream. Fair enough, the ferry they previously rode was covered in snow just beyond the horizon, stuck in the ice and free of passengers. Or at least Wirt thought so.

“Good. We know where we are. If we cut across this section of the woods then we should be able to skip right past all of that junk and get to —” Beatrice cut her sentence off with a hiss of irritation. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Jason Funderburker wants to see his friends,” replied Greg, going straight towards the animal barge. The amphibian croaked helpfully, encouraging the seven year-old. Wirt just stayed alongside him.

“Wirt . . . Don’t you ever take charge of your brother?” she asked with a sigh.

“Eh, I don’t see stormclouds and there’s time before sunset. Maybe those frogs will still be active and we could try to get them to help us,” he suggested, continuing forth. “It won’t hurt to check.”

“Fine,” the redhead huffed and stepped to the front, “but we have to do it quickly.”

Wirt found her impatience to be odd.  _ She’s hiding something. Whatever it is, I have to find out. _

 

o-o-o-o

 

“They’re  _ hibernating? _ ” Greg repeated with exasperated fervor. He paused for a second. “What’s that?”

“It’s when animals or  _ frogs _ sleep until it gets warm again,” Beatrice informed bluntly, throwing a rock at a green limb that was poking out of the mud. It didn’t do so much as twitch. “Once they fall asleep, it’s almost impossible to wake them up until spring. Now that winter is everlasting, we can forget about rousing these useless weirdos.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy apologized, patting his pet’s head reassuringly. “Are you gonna take a nap too?”

The amphibian drowsily responded, scrambling to the rim of the muddy bog, which was beginning to show signs of frost. Snow caked the area, but otherwise the ground appeared untouched by the season. Jason didn’t actually jump in.

“I think we should get going,” Wirt finally said. “Let’s go that direction. Auntie Whispers’ house shouldn’t be too far.”

“Because that’s where we’re stopping for the night,” the girl added.

“Yes.”

“And we’re going directly there.”

“Yes.”

Beatrice hummed in thought, apparently not believing him. Everything about her was on edge.

_ I wonder why . . . _ Wirt pondered, the answer clicking into place as they started off again.  _ Oh yeah. We’re close to Adelaide’s right now. Beatrice must not want us to go there. I don’t see a reason . . . unless . . . unless . . . _ He blinked. Now that was a prospect.

“Hello? You in there?” the redhead called out to the shorter teen, waving a hand in front of his face. “You’re spacing out for the millionth time.”

“D-did you say something?” the brown-haired boy asked with a confused frown.

“Yeah,  _ ‘pay attention’ _ ,” she responded tartly, keeping up with Greg. “You never know when something might . . . pop out at you.”

“Like?” he attempted, getting a cold shrug in response.

“Just focus.”

“You seem extremely uncomfortable,” Wirt commented. She ignored him this time. “Maybe we should take a break. Wait, look! I think I see a cottage! We should stop there!”

Her glare was like a blade. But he had armor. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

The male gave a smug smirk, pretending not to understand. “Yep, you’re super tense. I don’t see a storm coming anytime soon. There will be plenty of time to relax in a cozy little house. We could leave before the night ends and also get to Auntie Whispers’ safely. Uh-huh, perfect. Come on, Greg.” He took his brother’s hand, which was cold to the touch.

“ _ Wirt! _ You miserable little —” she snapped, face reddening. It looked like she was about to throw the supply sack at him. Hard. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You’ve been an amazing friend, Beatrice. I’m just making sure you have a chance to feel at ease. And we’ve all been walking way too long,” he justified, insides about to screech in terror from the sheer hostility radiating from the redhead.  _ It will be worth it, though . . . It will . . . _

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing!” she hissed, continuing to follow them, approaching the familiar stone cottage with its eerie, creeping vegetation that only started to wither and die, and its tiny, peeping windows.

“I’m not.”

Greg looked between the two of them. “Something’s not quite right, am I right?”

Wirt tipped his head, having taken them up to the witch’s old home by then. “What do you think, Beatrice? Seems completely fine by me. No one even lives here anymore.”

“Are you  _ out of your mind? _ This is Adelaide’s house! She’s the same crazy psycho that tried to kidnap you and Greg for servant’s work!” Beatrice vented, fuming.

“But she’s gone. She was dissolved by the night air, remember?” he offered a smile that he felt grow weaker. The bluff was difficult to keep.

“You don’t know what she’s done in there! S-she could have ghosts haunting the place!” Beatrice’s visage started draining of color.

“Ghosts?” the seven year-old brightened, lifting his frog into the air and shaking him from side to side in a gentle motion. With the action, Jason’s belly glowed the faintest of yellows that faded away almost immediately. “The ringing of the bell  _ commands _ you . . . to come out and let me see you!”

The former bluebird appeared to be about to faint with dread. Wirt cast her a sideways glance and waited to see if anything would happen. It didn’t.

“I guess there aren’t any ghosts,” the eldest brother said happily, pulling open the wooden door for the others to pass.

“No ghosts? Man, I got tricked a second time,” the youngest pouted, making his way in anyway.

Beatrice lingered by the door. Her feet seemed planted in the snow. The girl’s brow furrowed and her lips turned down in a grimace.

“Come in. There’s no need to worry now that the ghost issue is solved,” he told her, standing still until she made herself move into the cottage, all reluctance evident. Wirt shut the door, closing them into the place. The air was stale, the yarn still draped from the ceiling and the various rugs and items tossed messily about from a recent frantic search. It was also a lot warmer now that the wind wasn’t blowing on them.

“Hey Wirt, can I sleep on the bed?” Greg called from the back, already standing next to the blanketed mattress.

“No, definitely not!” Beatrice answered for him. “And no sleeping on the floor, either!”

“What? What am I supposed to do, then?” he whined. “Can I  _ sit _ on the floor?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Tell your brother ‘no’,” the girl groaned, eyes on Wirt.

Greg breathed deeply. “How come we came here if we can’t sit down or sleep?”

“That’s my question. We should hurry up and go to that Whispers lady’s house . . .” Beatrice tried, watching as the gnome-dressed boy walked further into the room.

“Looks alright,” Wirt commented calmly and walked over to a drawer. He shuffled through the contents and opened another. “Maybe there are still some enchanted items here we can use to help us.”

“ _ That’s _ why you wanted to come here?” she blew up, growling when Greg started poking around like his kin. “I already checked!”

“You were searching for the scissors. You could’ve missed something.”

“There isn’t anything here. We’re wasting time.”

“Can you light that candle?”

Beatrice scowled but did so after a second, deciding against fighting with him about it.  _ Good, good . . . _ The small amount of light emitted from the taper feebly lifted the darkest shadows.

“Is this magical?” Greg picked up a knitting needle.

“How am I supposed to know?” the girl said sharply.

“Oh. What about this?” Greg showed Wirt the other needle.

“I’m not sure,” Wirt answered. “If it’s special it will probably look that way.” He resumed sorting through the drawer.  _ I have a feeling that this is going to take a while. _

 

o-o-o-o

 

The object he was holding landed unceremoniously on the floor. Wirt bent over to pick it up, setting the dusty book back on the dresser. When he turned his head, he saw Beatrice staring at him. The teen returned her gaze.

“What are you trying to prove?” the former bluebird asked suddenly, arms crossing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he responded, crouching to look under the bed.

“Tell me, Wirt.”

“Tell you what?”

“ _ Tell me. _ ”

Wirt stayed quiet, listening to the noises of his brother wandering around out of boredom and the subtle tapping of a plant’s stem against the window. He waited, silent, then when no other words came, focused back on Beatrice. “It doesn’t feel good, does it?”

She bit her lip. “Is this about me?”

“Are you going to talk to me?”   
The redhead played with the edge of her blue dress, eyes flickering their focus away and then returning. “If you’ll talk to me.”

Wirt smiled contentedly at that, standing once more. “We can’t defeat the Beast if we keep secrets from each other. Even small ones. Misunderstandings in a group of friends lead only to chaos.”

“So this  _ is _ about me.”

“If you’re afraid of something, tell us. Directly. No more bluebird rules,” he proposed, holding out a hand. “You stay true to that and I’ll talk as well. Always. We’re together on this.”

Instead of shaking his hand, the girl pulled him into a tight hug. “No more bluebird rules,” she consented, the warmest thing in the entire cottage. “And you have to stop drifting into your thoughts and actually listen to what I say, okay?”

He returned her embrace, joy filling him. “That sounds like a plan.”

After what seemed like a heartbeat too short, she pulled away from him, making her way to the entrance. “Now that’s settled, we should hurry and leave. The next storm will probably be here —” Beatrice strained to open the door, grunting when it hardly moved. “Wirt! You had us cramped up in here for too long!”

He cringed, running over to where she was. He tugged on the handle. It wouldn’t even budge for him. “The blizzard must have caught us while we were searching.”

“You mean while you were trying to  _ prove a point, _ ” she ridiculed, stomping back into the middle of the room. “Now we’re stuck here until it thaws in the morning.”

Greg approached them, standing to the side as Beatrice grabbed some blankets she packed and laid them on the floor. Jason sat on top of the boy’s tea kettle, ribbiting softly. Wirt ran a hand through his bangs.

“Sleep on top of these,” she directed, flopping down and closing her eyes. “And goodnight.”

Wirt nodded even though she wasn’t looking, settling next to her. Greg took his other side, having blown out the candles they had burning. The floor beneath the cloth was chilly and hard and everything around him was dark. Yet somehow, with them all lying next to each other, nothing really mattered except his beloved brother and his friend that persisted through all.

Not even the most horrible of storms could change that. But they could try.


	25. Time to Remember

**Chapter 25: Time to Remember**

 

“Freedom!” Beatrice screeched happily, shoving open the creaky door to Adelaide’s cottage and dashing out into the broken, snowy land, ruffled red hair billowing out behind her.

The boys tailed her effervescent path, grinning brightly. Wirt thought he would actually run after the former bluebird for a short moment, all of his bunched up energy and emotions trying to escape into the world.

He saw the sun’s rays beaming down on portions of the forest, departing the gloomy clouds in favor of mirth. Despite it all, the light stayed strong, fighting the darkness until his cold could not hold any longer, managing to keep her warmth through even the toughest of battles.

Beatrice came to a stop, twirling around to look at Wirt and Greg. She was smiling.

“Can we race?” the youngest of the group asked her, his eyes wide and excited.

“Why not?” The girl immediately took off again, exuberant laughter prompting the two to join.

Greg sped ahead first.

Wirt picked up his pace, staying one step behind his sibling to keep an eye out for him. There was a time where he would have ran faster than he did, solely for the sake of it, and another where he wouldn't have ran at all. But those times were past him.

 

o-o-o-o

 

“That was  _ too _ easy.” Beatrice stood triumphantly over the ridge created by the fallen tree, face flushed.

Greg and Wirt met her there, both panting from exertion. In Aberdale, they didn’t do much running. Walking was easier on them.

“Woah, isn’t this that tree I knocked over with my power?” the elephant-dressed kid asked after he caught his breath, patting its wet, rough bark. “Hey there, tree. I’m sorry for knocking you over. Are you enjoying the snow?”

Instead of answering, the frosty wood creaked under their friend’s weight. Jason Funderburker croaked from his hiding place inside Greg’s overalls.

“That’s okay. I don’t really like the cold either.” He gave it a few more reassuring pets.

The older brother smirked, shaking his head. “Beatrice, you —”

“Could it be?”

The gasp of a familiar female made Wirt whip around. Standing before him, in the cast shadow of a leafless copse, was a girl. She was attired in a modest, simple green outfit, her black hair tied up in a white bonnet. Her pale face was turning a sentimental pink, eyes wide and meaningful.

“Lorna?”

“Wirt, it is you!” she exclaimed joyfully, bounding forward to engulf him in a hug and resting her head on his shoulder. “I have missed you so much. Auntie will be thrilled to hear you’ve returned.”

He returned the affectionate hold, still somewhat shocked. Wirt’s smile softened as he pulled away, watching her with gleaming eyes. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“Aye. Hello, Greg,” she greeted the child, who waved back, then turned to their companion. “And who are you?”

The redhead was fighting a scowl, irritation radiating off of her. “Beatrice,” she responded tartly, offering none else.

“She’s . . . a friend. She’s been helping us to get home,” Wirt said when Lorna shrank away.  _ Youch. When did the mood get so sour? _

“Nice to make your . . . acquaintance,” the girl said softly, feeling rather awkward when Beatrice didn’t say anything else. Lorna stepped closer to Wirt, glancing between him and the run-down icy house in the distance. “Please, follow me. We have much to talk about.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

“Did you know that all the types of tea come from the same plant and that plant is good for your teeth? It’s a rock fact!” Greg announced randomly, raising his painted stone high above his head.

Auntie Whispers tipped her head at that, sipping her own cup of the dark, steamy liquid. “Dear child, many teas originate from an evergreen shrub, but there are some that can be made without it. Have you had teas from flowers? Or perhaps a magical tea created with compressed ingredients with a potion in mind?”

The boy made a face of complete bewilderment, looking down at his drink. He dropped his rock beside it, speechless.

Lorna giggled. “Your brother is precious,” she told Wirt, setting a tray of homemade cookies on the table.

“I’ve never seen him proven wrong like that,” he said, amused. The male gratefully took a cookie, chewing on it. He looked at Beatrice, who was sitting in between him and Greg with her arms crossed as she squinted at her share of tea. She hesitated before picking it up, swallowing a mouthful. She didn’t put it down.

“I must thank you and your brother again for saving Lorna from her wickedness,” the witch began as her adopted niece sat down in the last chair, filling the table. “Life has been wonderful without that evil spirit plaguing her.”

“We will be forever grateful,” Lorna supplied, causing the other young female to gag.

When Wirt tried to glare at the redhead, Beatrice was making a face at the tea as if it had tasted bad or choked her.  _ Honestly, what’s your deal today? _ She had seemed so carefree when they woke. He thought back to their agreement the night before, growing irritated.  _ I’ll ask her about it later. _

“Hmm . . . Do you like winter?” Greg piqued, having already started on a cookie of his own.

Auntie Whispers’ expression was a dark one, hidden worry revealing itself in full force. “I’m afraid to admit that this freezing season should never had existed,” she said, slowly, regret laced into her words. “It is my fault that the Beast exists at all, and I must do my best to warn you so that my actions do not affect more lives.”

“Y-you mean the Witches of the Unknown? The ones in the story? Were you one . . .  _ Are _ you one of them?” Wirt asked, shocked.

“Adelaide and I are fully responsible for what is happening,” she admitted, again, accompanied with a nod. “I am not sure what the people have said to you. Each tale is strangely different . . . some exaggerated. But I have lived through with the consequences. And now I must ensure that you, your brother and the rest of the Unknown do not suffer for our wrongs.”

“What . . . What happened?” he pressed. “Can you help us get home?”

“My powers are limited and my skills dwindled from using black magic all those years ago. If you are searching for aid in enchantment, I am contrite . . . I will be of no assistance,” Auntie Whispers said, visage remorseful, “but I can tell you what I know in hopes that you might be able to use that knowledge.”

Wirt sat back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of the old lady, trillions of thoughts and worries and questions exploding in his mind. He could hear Greg loudly chewing a cookie. No one bothered to scold him.

Drinking down her cup of tea and pouring a new one, the witch tipped her head to the window, as if begging the sky for memory. “We used to be enchantresses long ago, living innocently, together, helping people and animals from this very cottage. It was before even Lorna was born, when the Unknown was ruled by the King and Queen. Our mastery in white magic quickly reached the King’s ears . . . He asked us if we would be interested in helping him create a monster in exchange for funding. At the time, I had believed that his intention was pure and worthwhile. I had seen how weak many souls were in the face of danger. But my sister, she wanted . . . to learn.

“Black magic. It was a dreadful thing, evil in every sense of the word. Years passed . . . the most horrible of my life. I saw Adelaide grow wicked, taking pleasure in macabre business. I, too, became . . . unlike my old self. It was . . . the toll.” Her yellowed eyes widened, huge and oddly slitted pupils. An out-of-proportion, skin-toned hand brought the cup of tea to her blanched lips, the color strange and sickly.

Beginning to reclaim his mind’s course, Wirt noted to himself — something he wasn’t able to really do when they had met before — that she was obviously not beautiful.  _ At least, not anymore.  _ Auntie Whispers made it quite apparent what malicious practices could do to a person.

He took another bite of the homemade dessert, musing.  _ The rose that blooms with a passionate fire wilts away to darkness, shriveled, with only a vague memory to guide it. One by one do the petals fall, until only a shred of life is left to flower again another day. _ He hummed in thought.

“The experiments were no better,” Lorna continued the tale, offering a snippet, her face expressing wistful concentration. “I was young, just a babe, but I remember foggily the horrors of the attempts to create the Beast. My father was turned into a crow when he came across this cottage and I became wicked inside, due to Adelaide’s want to experiment. Because of it, my father left me here to heal. Adelaide ran off not long after. They were . . . I recall my childhood being very . . . fearful. Many nights I could not sleep because of the horrid sounds coming from the basement but Auntie always assured me well. Even so, the evil spirit in me would not subside and its hunger was ravenous. I only . . . I lasted a few weeks before every creature was devoured, each monstrous mash of things that should never had met. Aye, they were truly gone from the morals of the world. And . . . I . . . was not much different. You are aware of what happened after that, my turtles. Shame plagued me ever since.”

Wirt bit his lip. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“You are not to blame, Wirt,” Lorna smiled in return, a flush of color on her pale cheeks. “Thanks to you and your brother, I am cured. Hopefully, I can pay the Unknown back for what I owe in the near future.”

Beatrice cleared her throat, making everyone look at her. Her grin was strained. “ _ Excuse _ me, but we are  _ really _ on a tight schedule. So, if it’s possible, could we get to the part about getting these guys home and beating the Beast? I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer and those snowstorms are going to catch up to us soon . . .”

“I don’t want to leave!” Gregory stated, voice muffled by a mouthful of cookie. He chugged it down with some tea, innocent orbs huge and pleading. “We just got here! And it’s warm and toasty and Lorna and Auntie Whispers are extra nice to us! Please don’t make us go!”

“Not yet, Greg,” Wirt assured. “She’s right, but we still need to find out what we can.” He gazed at the witch, fingers absently tapping against the tableside. “Is there any way to cross into my world from here?”

The woman stayed quiet, sighing. “The gate clouded over long ago,” she answered, gesturing into the air. “To create the Dark Lantern, I stole the magic from the night breeze. Not only would it fuel the needs to trap a soul such as the Beast’s, it would protect the Unknown from vile witches like my sister. The price was severing the connection between our worlds. I am not very educated in the topic, but people and animals from your realm came and went frequently, without issue. After that magic was misplaced, they could only enter the Unknown, though without cognizance of their arrival. I do not know . . . if any of them were able to return.”

Dread smacked him hard, his palms growing sweaty with nervousness.  _ If even  _ she  _ doesn’t know . . . _

“Perhaps there is a possibility,” Auntie Whispers said, “that if you were to extinguish the Dark Lantern then the magic will return. It is draining our lands, our essence. However, it is impossible to be rid of, though changing the form of it can render it useless.”

“Um, you’re saying that we have to interfere to get these guys home?” Beatrice asked, nose wrinkling in concentration. “Blow out the lantern. That was the goal this whole time. Not  _ too _ hard.”

Wirt knew she was kidding. They had attempted that already. Multiple times. “We’ll have to try something different, then. Is there . . . anything we could do to fight him?”

“The Queen is the only one who poses a threat to the Beast,” she denied, frowning. “Alas, she is tiring and is already doing what she can with the powers she was granted. I am unable to help you, either. No spell or incantation will surpass this cold, when we are so deep in it.”

“The Queen of the Clouds?” Greg said with delight. “That queen? I remember her from my dream! I saved Cloud City from the ol’ North Wind and she let me have a wish! She said that I could even go home!” His smile dropped. “But she wouldn’t take Wirt, too, so I didn’t go.”

“You actually talked to her?” Beatrice gasped, eyes shining with determination. “Can you do it again?”

Greg made a face, shrugging.

The redhead hummed and stood from her seat, propping herself up with her hands and leaning over the table. “There isn’t much hope out there from what I see, but we at least have an idea of what to do. We’re going to head out before the next storm and ask the queen for help.”

“Please don’t,” Lorna pleaded, worried orbs darting to Wirt. “She is already fighting the Beast and if you venture to speak to her, it may become a fatal distraction. Nay, I’d mind not bother.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! Do you expect us to wait it out?” she snapped, running her fingers frustratedly through her unbundled hair. Jason croaked helpfully.

“Beatrice . . .” the gnome-dressed boy coaxed, pausing until she looked him in the eye. “I’m sure we can do something ourselves without interfering with her. The Woodsman should still be around somewhere. Maybe we could . . . find him again?”

Everyone stared at her.

Wirt ineptly smiled.

The former bluebird made an expression that mirrored reluctant acceptance, perhaps defeat, before throwing herself away from the small gathering and dropping into a hasty curtsy. “If you’ll excuse these knuckleheads and me, I believe we must be off.”

“You should stay here for the night! It is nearing dusk!” Lorna attempted, standing and moving closer to them.

Undeterred, Beatrice made it to the door, prying the wooden slab open. She hissed through her teeth and shut it. Lorna was giving Wirt a hug.

“I do not want you to leave,” the black-haired girl sighed. “I will miss you so much. Be safe.”

Growling, the other teen trudged back over to them, arms crossed in front of her chest. “ _ Nevermind _ then.”

Wirt slowly pulled away, confused.

“It’s started to snow already. Soon it’ll be too dangerous to do what we need to,” she explained with a huff, dropping back down into her chair and rolling her eyes when she thought Wirt wasn’t looking. “We’ll have to stay the night.”

He smiled anyway.

“Joy! We shall make your stay spectacular!” the female clapped exuberantly, flashing a beaming grin at her heroes.

The gnome-dressed boy laughed in response. “Thanks.”

“Yeah!” His brother made another happy grab for the cookies, gifting one to his frog. “Thank you!”

Beatrice absently nodded.

Auntie Whispers raised her cup of tea, pinkie bent, proper and pleased. “My children, you are all very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, I'm very happy for all of my readers who've gotten here! Cx Thank you all so much! Leave comments and check out my other fic if you haven't already! This will continue to be posted alternately with the other one. (I've been slow lately. Hahahaha . . .)


	26. An End in Sight

**Chapter 26: An End in Sight**

 

"Hey . . . Beatrice?" Wirt began, planting his feet into the newfound permafrost by the frozen lake. They had just traveled from Auntie Whispers and Lorna's cottage and spent a good amount of time battling the later winds of the morning. It was evening now. Throughout the journey, his friend seemed to open up a bit more, even laughing at Greg's jokes.

But that didn't mean everything was okay. Ever since they left Adelaide's old place . . .  _No._  Ever since their race ended and Lorna showed her face, Beatrice became almost unbearable. She barely talked at bedtime.

Now she refused to look at him for more than necessary. She didn't even  _hear_  him call her, did she? Which was . . . worthy of confused poetry, honestly. His thoughts were jumbled like . . . like  _something_.

He couldn't put words to Beatrice's attitude. Unlike their frail attempt of a plan. If that wasn't enough to worry about.

Jason Funderburker gave a hearty ' _rorop_ ', skidding across the final stretch of ice and landing in a lump in the accumulations. Greg, who was holding Wirt's hand, sluggishly extended his empty one towards the amphibian.

Meanwhile, Beatrice smoothed out an icy patch of ground, kicking a chunk of snow from her way, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil. She plopped the supply sack right down, pointedly digging through the bag's contents.

"I . . . um. Hrm." Wirt didn't have it in him to catch the redhead's attention, again shrinking back into his quiet smoldering. Alternatively, he took the moment to gaze around, confirming that the clearing they were in was in fact the same one he visited after Greg's capture.

Remains of a chopped Edelwood sapling laid scattered amongst a covered blanket of cold. He shivered but not from the temperature. His fingers tightened just a bit on his brother's hand.  _Oh, I hope this works. I'm having second thoughts about this plan . . . Let the honey bees sting so long as golden treasure awaits in reward._  The gnome-dressed boy breathed in a deep breath of chilly air.  _Unless the nest is dry. Then run._

"I remember here," his sibling stated, large eyes larger. "Are we going to be here for a long time? I don't want to. Why do we need to be here again?"

"We can't contact the queen, so we have to try getting to that lumberjack wacko instead," Beatrice answered in an irritated tone, pulling out a box of matches. " _There_  we go!"

"We're making a  _campfire_?" the smallest of them inquired cheerily, letting Jason Funderburker hop into his arms, releasing Wirt's hand.

"Sure," she said, pointing across the whitened glade. "Will you both pick up some tinder and dry wood for me? Over there?"

"Yay! I can do that!" Greg laughed, energetically skipping away.

Though, Wirt took a moment. "There's plenty of firewood right next to us," he said. "Trees are everywhere."

She stayed bent, finally turning her head to look at him. "Don't argue. I needed . . . space."

 _That's curious._  "Space?" he began, only then catching her glare. "Ah. Okay. I'll . . . uh . . . help him?"

Her glare intensified.

"I'll help him." Avoiding further eye harassment — the former bluebird had an uncanny knack for it — Wirt pursued the path of his kin, crouching down beside him. "You got it?"

"Yeah! Look!" Greg showed him a messy bundle of partially frozen tree branches and grass. "I learned how in camp."

"Good job," he smiled, taking it from him so that the seven year-old could collect more. "Hey, did you notice anything weird about Beatrice lately? Ever since we went to Lorna's, she hasn't been acting normally."

"Huh?" Greg blinked, tipping his head, his pet resting on top of his kettle while he gathered tiny logs.

"Hasn't she been . . .  _grouchier_  than usual?" Wirt pressed, glancing at the redhead.  _What is she doing? Why does she have the map out? Strange . . ._

"Kind of?" he attempted, guilt tracing his words. "I dunno. Nobody feels amazing right now. It's why I have to pep everyone!" He gave a ginormous grin. "Be happy! Big smiles!"

Wirt couldn't prevent from beaming, marveling the positivity of Greg's attitude at such a time. The idea was fair.  _She did promise to tell me if something important is on her mind._  When he returned to their makeshift spot with their findings, the map was out of sight. His smile wavered.  _Except . . . I'm not so sure she's doing that._

"Set them here," Beatrice said once they approached, allowing them to do so. Following procedures, she lit the fire, using about five matches in impatient fervor.

The elephant-dressed elementary student cooed in awe during the process, in spite of her frustration. His brother stared at her pensively.

"There. Done. Wasn't there any  _less_  frozen wood you could have picked from?" she huffed, standing.

Wirt shrugged, nerves spiking for some reason.  _Ask her._  "It's all basically the same."

Beatrice cracked her knuckles, popped her back. She was about to move the plan along. He wasn't overconfident that they would have too much time together after that.

"A-actually . . . Before we do anything else . . ."

Her suspicious glance was too much. Abort mission.  _Who cares if I never find out my entire life anyway? This plan might not even work anyway. Anyways._  He proceeded to laugh uncomfortably in the shelter of his mind. The Woodsman would just pop idly out of the shadows and let them blow out the lantern's flame and everything in the Unknown would go back to normal and then Wirt and Greg would magically  _poof_  right into Aberdale like waking from some strange dream and then Wirt would never have to face his unvoiced problems with Beatrice because  _why_  were there any problems in the first place!

He sighed hopelessly, fist clenched. It was out of the question.

He was going to settle this even if Greg was standing there and they had a life-changing event possibly ahead of them and Beatrice  _refused_  to —

"What is it?"

Wirt's racing thoughts came to a halt. "Huh?"

"What do you want to say?" Her freckles appeared redder than usual, perhaps from the heat. She was frowning.

"It's . . . well . . . how do I put this?" It was way harder than it should have been. "Are you . . . do you need the map?"

She was unamused, repeating, "The map?"

"Yeah, I mean, we totally know for certain that this is a clearing and . . . uh. We don't  _know_  the Woodsman will be here for sure."

"I was just checking," the girl said easily, pausing. "That's not what you were going to say."

"No. It's not," he said, momentarily distracted by his sibling warming himself by the fire. Wirt focused on Beatrice. He was ready. Just like he told himself since yesterday. He was. Only for real. "Ever since we went to visit Auntie Whispers, you've been acting strange."

She dropped her smugness, quiet.

"You feel angry, and I get that, but . . . I don't . . . I don't understand what it has to do with me or the bluebird rules we got rid of or Lorna, maybe," he said, wanting to fidget with something, settling for the edges of his cape. "I've  _lost it_  trying to figure out what's wrong."  _With me? With you? With . . . what?_

"There's nothing wrong with  _you_ , Wirt." Beatrice sniffed, voice quiet and thick with some emotion. It was a challenge to tell which it could be. "Aside from the usual stuff."

His lips quirked just a bit.

"It's none of that other stuff, either. I . . . I don't know," she huffed, no longer meeting his eyes. He was usually the one to do that. "I mean,  _if_  there's something wrong, it's definitely something wrong with me. Or this pressure. Or this  _whole stinking season_ , because frankly, I'm really starting to hate running around in endless circles in the cold."

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't think you . . ."

"Maybe it's just that I'd hate to see you go. You and Gregory both. Maybe it's because I know if you stay, you'll die or the Unknown and all my family will die and it'll be my fault in the end for not getting you home."

 _And she despises the thought,_  he realized.  _She knows she'd miss us and she blames herself for wanting us to stay_. His heart gave a painful throb. Just like that, his world was flipped upside-down.  _I shouldn't have judged her._

"I've always been selfish . . . I thought I could change," she murmured, "but I can't. So I have to forget what I want. There are more important things to deal with."

Wirt embraced her, unable to think to do anything else. He couldn't stand her talking that way. Strong, independent Beatrice on the verge of tears. He held her tightly until she returned it, silently offering that comfort.

"It's okay," he assured. "No matter what happens, I'll make sure that this won't be the last time we're together. Even if I'm a world away. We'll find a way. I promise."

They broke apart, her expression more readable, more joyful, her orbs filled with tears. Although she was trying not to smile, she dabbed at her spilling sentiments with her wrist, breathless in a sort of laugh or cry. When she spoke, she sounded firm, closer to the Beatrice he knew. "Thanks, you dork."

He grinned warmly back at her.

"Hey, Wirt . . . I think there is something I haven't told —"

A yelp of surprise carried over to them, muffled through the barren trees. They all spun, at attention.

Wirt gasped. "What if that was the Woodsman?"

"Woooooodsmaaaaaan!" the youngest of them called, cupping around his mouth in a quick megaphone. "Come out, please!"

"We have to talk!" The elder brother waved meagerly, slightly doubtful that the man was able to hear them. He couldn't  _see_  the Woodsman. How did they know for certain that he was even listening? Just because the guy practically haunted the group's travels didn't mean he was nearby.

"You heard us!" Beatrice yelled, the flame's smoke mingling with her frosty breath.

A heartbeat passed in general silence, broken by the crunching of leaves and ice. Another light gleamed back at them, the lantern clutched protectively, a torch on its final minute. The Woodman had revealed himself, familiar in every sense.

"How are you doing, fine sir?" Greg offered civilly. "I'm asking because mom told me it's polite to ask when you haven't seen a person in a while."

The weary guy almost cracked a sympathetic grin, but grimness overrode it. "You are unsafe. You must go home."

Beatrice crossed her arms, face defiant but not as defiant as she was prior to Wirt's conversation with her. "Told you before. We  _can't_."

The other teen nodded slightly, putting a foot in advance, trying to be brave. "That's why we need to talk to you. We're trying to . . . p-put — sorry —  _put_  an end to this." He cleared his throat, though no one said anything to acknowledge his slip-up.

The man reeled the smallest amount, almost giving the impression that he was planning to run away. Once more, the Woodsman's wielding hand moved to the lantern's front, his axe an imposed layer of defense. "You will not bring this to her. She did nothing to you. My daughter never wished for this!"

" _We_  never wished for  _this_ ," the redhead snapped back, gesturing to their surroundings. "Do you have any idea what's happening?"

"My daughter is not the cause . . . You mustn't pick against her. It is the  _Beast_  who caused our troubles! The  _Beast_  who is to blame!" he spat, groaning to the skies. "Behold! Look around at the sorrows caused by the fiend! My sweet child was  _captured_  by him, you see? He . . .  _He_  did this to us all!"

Wirt felt his brother grab onto his cape from behind, pining for a source of comfort.  _It'll be over soon, Greg. It'll be alright._  "Yeah, we know. That's why we have to stop him."

"There isn't a single thing you can do to deter him! He  _is_  the essence of malice, of wrath undermining his darkened past! Only  _she_  may fix his wrongs, and yet the Beast has anticipated her fall!" the Woodman mourned, singing his age-old woe. "Poor Unknown! Poor children! Poor Anna! We are nothing to his powers! His great evils! We have no hope!"

"Think again, mister. Hope's alive still," Beatrice said, gaze darting upwards. "And she's right on time."

A gasp sounded, followed by another, Greg's awed and the Woodsman's shocked visages turned mutually at the clearing clouds above them.

 _Huh?_  Wirt squinted, a golden ray shining down in a blast of haste, making land on the ground beyond them and melting away the snow. The grayscale haze of forest became a notch more vivid, surviving plants intensified, a contrast between the icy and the wet and the bare. From the limelight, the glimpse of atmosphere became blue and blazing, a surreal, shimmering figure descending, dreamlike in every way.

Silence stretched out, but the air was filled with unspoken reaction as the queen stood upon the warming earth, her form flickering, the very stars in the night sky. Her smile was bittersweet, eyes forever kind and loving beneath their depths. The tiny white doves flying around her crown were languid and weighed, supporting her tiring posture. She looked infinitely fragile. "Hello, Beatrice, Gregory. Wirt. Woodsman."

"Hello!" Greg greeted enthusiastically.

"About time. How about shedding some sensation back into this bozo?" the former bluebird said, chin tipped in imitation pride. She cast Wirt a guilty look.

"Quite a strong opinion you have there," the Queen of the Clouds said, suggesting compassion, fading for a second and returning. "But yes, thank you for reaching for me and granting your faith."

 _What is she doing here? Beatrice_ agreed  _to talk to me about things! No secrets! How could she do this without telling us?_  Wirt cast a leer of momentary betrayal at the other teen, annoyed that he wasn't informed of their surprise visitor. They had decided with Lorna and Auntie Whispers that contacting the queen would  _endanger_   _everything_  and yet she still did it without consent. A slice of regret cut into him at that.  _No. She did what she thought was reasonable. And I'm pretty sure she was about to tell me._

"You . . . you're in terrible danger," the Woodsman breathed, stance slackened, a disturbance in his gaze. "No, you cannot . . . The Beast . . . He will destroy you."

"Do not worry. I know what he wants," she responded smoothly. "I am not afraid for myself. I came for you, so that you might understand. The Dark Lantern wasn't meant for this."

Quiet, he seemed unable to respond.

"We wished to contain him. I accept responsibility, but countless have unfairly suffered because of our solution," she explained. "His soul relies on the Dark Lantern staying lit. It is a spell a heartfelt enchantress devised with me, and I thought that it would allow me enough time to save him while keeping a spot of vulnerability. It has been long enough. I'm losing my influence on the Unknown. If he absorbs my remaining power then he will be able to break the spell himself. He will be freed, unstoppable. For my people . . . for the innocent children . . . for the creatures and life and those from other worlds . . . we can't let him stand."

Horror filled every single one of Wirt's veins. They  _couldn't_  let that happen. They  _had_  to stop the Beast. Surely, the Woodsman understood that now?

The old man took a shaky step back, dropping his axe in the snow, empty hand reaching for the glowing object. He caressed the front of the lantern, sadness returning to his expression. "Shall this . . . be  _his_  soul . . . a cruel lie, my life." He put his finger slowly on the cap. "I haven't seen my daughter's face . . . except in sleep, and then it is a horrid reminder. Years . . . since . . . she was stolen from me." He breathed in, reluctantly revealing the fire's source, tears of mournful hesitation mirroring the last time he attempted to vanquish the cursed flame.

Overwhelmed, he hesitated.

It was all it took for the Beast's darkened presence to materialize before them, straight out of the shadows. Those two gleaming orbs narrowed at the Woodsman.

"I don't think so."


	27. So Help Us

**Chapter 27: So Help Us**

In a heartbeat's panic, an emerging Edelwood branch swatted the lantern out of the Woodsman's grasp. The wood acted as a momentary barrier and the dropped object smashed, shut, into the snow.

"No!" the Woodsman cursed, darkness immediately lifting from the ground and shrouding everything the waist down from sight. The campfire sputtered. He stiffened. " _No_!"

Wirt was paralyzed, frozen in place. He couldn't move. The Beast's twin orbs gleamed through his soul, pinning him down.  _I'm afraid._

Even with the Queen of the Clouds standing astonishingly near, fighting the writhing shadows around her, the hair on her head the only blue in the sky, he was afraid. Yet her face was contorted with resolve.

"Queen," the Beast said grimly, slinking over to her. "I am happy to see you."

"Y-you are?" she faltered, cringing at the sudden impulse of shadows. They almost swallowed her up. "You are not! Leave these children be!"

"Slow-minded as ever," he spat, raising his spindly hand. "I'm not after the children."

"I will not give you the Unknown!" the queen blurted, throwing her power into a turbulent burst. At least half of the shadows dissipated immediately, revealing the Beast's grueling form, distorted faces in a gaping, wooden body.

Gregory started crying.

Wirt tried to move to his brother's side, but noticed his own feet were entangled in Edelwood.  _I have to do something!_  In sight, the lantern laid closer to him than he thought. However, he was not able to reach it or get free because soon the darkness engulfed them again. It was cold.

"You  _will_  relinquish what I deserve!"

He felt the sudden slash of frigid air, the wind of a struggling, wavering resistance. The small amount of heat against the freezing fray barely peaked at lukewarm, like the breath of a single mouse in a field of ice. It was nothing compared to the cold.

_Be okay. Please be okay._

When Wirt opened his eyes — they had shut in the barrage — the darkness subsided. And the queen was gone.

It was over too soon.

Triumphant, for that was the only word to describe the Beast's sauntering pose, he came to a stop in front of the trapped Woodsman, in front of the lantern, in front of . . .

_Beatrice._

Distress exploded within the teen. The former bluebird layed sprawled in the snow, one arm spread for the lantern and the other folded uncomfortably beneath her, as if she had fallen without control. Her fingers on her outstretched hand gave a twitch, straining. Her eyes were distantly pained, perhaps in mild consciousness. The rest of her did not move.

"Beast!" the Woodsman roared, unable to do anything but speak. "You promised not to hurt them!"

"The child hurt herself. It is not my problem if she tries to jump into a punishment meant for another," came his reply, infuriating Wirt to the very core. The Beast bent forward.

"How dare you!" Wirt exclaimed, finding himself suddenly mobile. The Edelwood wrapping his legs broke away like mere twigs. He didn't think. He just charged. " _How could you do this to Beatrice_?"

The Beast swerved, those twin headlights of his almost blinding in the gathering dark. Wirt didn't see what happened. In an instant, he joined Beatrice on the ground, ears ringing, the cold seeping into his bones.  _Oh no._ The Dark Lantern was inches from his face. He couldn't hear Greg.

"— won't have anyone to fuel it anymore!" The old man was saying something in desperation.

Greg  _was_  still crying.

"No? That's unfortunate," the Beast said lowly. Right in sight, the monster picked up the lantern, its bulk dangling solidly in his grip. "Alas, I have no need for you anymore. Nor this lantern. I am going to dispose of its services."

"I-impossible!  _Beast_!" the Woodman screamed, the Edelwood restraining his efforts. "Where is  _my daughter_?"

The abomination was silent. He simply stood in place, testing the weight of the lantern in his hand, up and down, left and right. The Beast's long talons shifted constantly over the handle. Not once did he falter.

Agitatedly confused, Wirt forced himself to push into a more upright position, arms buckling with the pressure. His whole body felt asleep. Collapsed beside him, Beatrice had her face half-buried in the snow. Greg's racking sobs carried loudly onwards through the unanswering forest. The Woodsman was restrained even tighter by the branches.

They were in no condition to fight.

But the Beast was distracted and the lantern was  _right there_  . . .

The fifteen year-old struck out with all of his energy, trying to launch his might into stealing away the dangling Dark Lantern. It would be quick. He could do it with enough poetic force, if he believed his snow-burdened limbs were covered in dandelion spores instead, able to be blown free with a child's breath. He  _reached_.

His fingertips didn't even graze the side of the lantern, his arm flopping uselessly into the snow along with the rest of him. He was exhausted, overwhelmed. He couldn't do anything.

The Beast pulled back a slight bit, lighted gaze condescending. "Weak, world-smitten children," he disdained. "You're not worth the trouble."

Unable to resist, Wirt watched him leave, disappearing into the forest. Scraggly footprints trailed after the Beast. He hadn't noticed them before.

"Boy . . ." the Woodman croaked, released from his prison at last. He stumbled closer, clutching at his chest. "Do not . . . give in."

The male felt his surroundings shift a considerable amount and had to blink the dizziness away. He couldn't let himself sleep now. However much he wanted to.

Hands gripped at his shoulders — two pairs of them, and he registered being moved to lean on a tree. From where he drowsily sat, he could feel heat trickling into him thanks to a relit fire and his brother's unrelenting embrace. Greg stopped crying, but he wouldn't let go of Wirt.

The seven year-old just kept hugging him, completely quiet. When Wirt glanced down at his visage, he saw the kid's terrified melancholy . . . and steadfast earnestness.  _Greg . . ._ He'd been through so much.

They all have.

And it wasn't over.

"H-how's . . ." Wirt began, throat raw. It hurt to speak. But he needed to. "B-beatrice?"

The Woodman turned at the same time that Gregory stiffened. Beside the fire, Beatrice's somehow delicate form glimmered orange and red in the flame's glow. She was as elegant as a phoenix, relaxed in her slumber, blue dress appearing nearly white under the haze of frost. The girl's expression, however, offered no tranquility. That was an expression of challenge.

"The Edelwood doesn't have hold of her . . . but . . . I do not know," the elder answered, sitting as well. Sadness etched his features. The next thing he said came in a whisper. "Anna . . . where are you?"

Wirt stared at them. Frustration smacked into him hard.  _What am I_ doing _?_  What were they all doing? Sluggishly, his fingers clenched. How were they even going to survive this?

"W-what's the point?" the poet fretted, his own tears aching to be shed. "T-this is . . . all my fault. I never . . . should h-have . . ." Maybe if he didn't make that tape for Sara, Beatrice would be safe in her home and Greg would be happy and he wouldn't be getting frostbite in a clearing while the Beast frolicked along his merry way.

"No . . . it's not, Wirt," his brother said softly. "We just have to . . . keep on going. We can do anything, but only if we're together. We can do it. We . . . we can!"

Jason Funderburker enduringly punctuated Greg's point. The frog was hiding by the fire.

_Yeah._ He had to let himself believe it. For all their sakes. "Thanks, Greg."

"You're welcome. Beatrice will get better for sure. She's a fighter."

He smiled lightly, head spinning. His lids were half-open, caught on the redhead's stubborn face, the way her stillness seemed almost forced. He didn't look away.

"It's a rock fact . . ." Wirt said. Beatrice was too strong-willed to let herself give up. If there was a chance to accomplish something, she was going to take it. He would have to admire that. Trust in her.

He would wait the entire night if he had to, but he was going to see Beatrice awaken. And then they would find out what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I can finally say that I'm ready for the climax of this story! It's been a pretty wild ride so far. I've got so much planned, too. I hope you all can enjoy (and mourn) the adventures of Wirt and his friends. The Beast is getting more powerful as well. A force to be reckoned with. Thanks so much for reading this far! I'm really in need of some support, so if it's not a bother, please leave me a short comment. They make my journey a whole lot easier. :D Next time's a biggie for sure!
> 
> (Also, I'd like to mention that the previous chapter has been updated slightly to fit in more character development - if you haven't read that yet, I suggest you do. Beatrice got more justice.)


	28. Chapter 28: Ashes of a Phoenix

**Chapter 28: Ashes of a Phoenix**

 

 _She’s awake._ Breathless, Wirt’s eyes fitted on the collapsed girl, drinking in every miniscule movement of her chest as if they were his lifeline. He noticed the slight whisper of her hair brushing against the contours of her snow-stained dress, but what stood out to him was when he saw her shiver, a full-body shake that traveled from her head to her feet.

Near the burning fire in the gloom, a sunrise in her own right, Beatrice stirred. Her freezing limbs pulled together briefly. The icy dirt crumbled after she dragged her legs through it. The scrape of harsh ground against fabric and skin was explosive on Wirt’s tired ears.

“B-beatri-ice,” he coughed, voice cracking in the dry air. Beside him, Gregory moaned an indiscernible comment. Wirt pushed himself up, shuddering at the way his legs wanted to stop working. Sleeping on the winter floor obviously wasn’t the best idea, but it was all they could do.

The night was unforgivingly windy, so he held tight to his pointed hat while he approached her, stepping past the Woodsman, who also happened to be getting up. Wirt barely spared him a glance.

“Beatr-trice . . . Are you . . . okay?” he repeated, bending forth to meet her. Something was caught in his throat, nerves, too much worry, a lack of courage. He didn’t feel anything besides the urgency to see her awake and to know that there was yet a pinprick of hope. It wasn’t about getting home anymore. It was about surviving.

Beatrice didn’t move aside from her punctuated breathing. His heart dropped. _I know I didn’t imagine that._ He squinted, rubbing the cold from his eyes. _Right?_ All of the crumbly snow looked the same.

“Beatrice?”

“She’s still alive,” the Woodsman said from behind him, causing him to startle.

 _Ah!_ Wirt muffled the small scream by closing his mouth. He turned briefly to look at him, wanting to do something more but having to wait for him to continue. The vague question of why they didn’t keep her closer and give her more clothing to stay warm suddenly came to him, causing Wirt to furrow his brows. It was common sense. What were they doing trying to keep her alive like this? Why couldn’t he think of it before?

“See how she breathes to the crackle . . . of the fire . . .” the Woodsman pointed out, gesturing to her shallow, rhythmic movements. He set one large hand upon the stack of spare firewood they’d gathered to thaw, throwing a few dry branches onto the burning pile. The flames sputtered and flared up again — and so did Beatrice’s chest. “Ohh-ohohh . . .”

“W-what? What’s going on? Is that — that’s not Edelwood, is it?”

“No . . . but soon it may be . . .”

“What! Wha-what are you talking about?” he responded, sensing his own arms starting to shake. “What’s happening to her?”

“I do not know . . .”

“ _What._ ”

The old man’s pitiful gaze broke Wirt’s strain of determination, the one last thing holding him together. Tears that should have been unable to come out streamed relentlessly from his face, leaving trails of empty, excruciating chilliness in their wake. “B-beatrice! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried, falling to his knees. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t stop looking at her. “You should n-never have come. We should ne-ever have come . . .”

“Boy.”

“I’m s-sorry!”

“Boy, pull yourself together,” the Woodsman said. Blessedly, he kept himself from touching Wirt, simply standing by the fire. “She is still alive.”

How could he? Wirt sucked in an unhappy breath. Anger at the Beast and at the frost caking Beatrice’s gown engulfed him, pulling at his sadness as if it were a gossamer cloth wrapped around his heart. “Just like your daughter?” he muttered cruely.

He could see his blow made its mark. The Woodsman’s visage scrunched up in a grimace.

“Did Anna live on . . . as a flame in your lantern?”

It seemed to take all the elder’s energy for him not to fall to temptation, to his exasperation, and so the Woodsman looked down at Beatrice instead of him. His wrinkled eyes filled with water. “You are right . . . I was a fool to believe the Beast’s words that she was safe . . .”

 _Right,_ he thought dryly. Biting his lip, the teen procured another sigh. Shuffling sounds and a ribbit indicated that his brother was waking up. The night felt long and young, but he didn’t care. His hope was withering away with his dreams of triumph. A fool he was, really, if he believed there was revival left.

The Queen had no power. And nor did he, it seemed.

“What’s . . . the point of this?” Wirt grumbled, mourning the very aura of life. “What d-does he want to gain? How does this help anything!”

“He is lost to his ideals . . .”

“What were we ever sup-upposed to do? We are but wayward leaves! We’re whims to indifference! The gusts of — of . . .”

This time, the hand that fell did come to rest on his shoulder, yet it was small and chilled, little fingers meant for making crafts, not comfort. “Wirt . . .”

He stared blankly at the fire now, imagining it was the phoenix that would turn them to ashes and end it all. _My phoenix has withered away . . . in torment, as the evil forest is revived instead._

“Hey . . . Wirt. When I was asleep . . . for a long long time . . . did you give up?”

 _Huh?_ He lifted his gaze, reminded of that time, seemingly far away, when it was Gregory lying down, passed out, and Wirt had watched over him. He remembered the moment when it seemed their journey was finished, when he’d sobbed profusely by Greg’s bedside in the mill-house until Beatrice brought him back into hope.

Those cheerful, large eyes gleamed with conviction and strength beyond his physical weakness. Greg pressed on. “When it was only y-you and me and Jason Funderburker, did you get up! No!”

“Get up . . .?”

“Give up! _NO_ !” he declared passionately, beating the sky with a fist. The frog exclaimed a startled _rorop_. “You kept going! Trucking on! Rolling the stones!”

Wirt couldn’t help a smile. “Yeah . . .?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah?”

“ _YEAH_!”

Laughing, Wirt stood up. He wiped at his tears, now leaking from amusement. Boy, even if there was no point in hoping for anything anymore, he sure loved his brother. “Okay. F-fine, you w-win.”

“Yeah! And that’s a rock fact!” Greg giggled, pulling out that clowney face while coughing into his sleeve. “One must always do his best to prevent si-sickness . . .”

“You’re not sick, Greg.”

“Not _yet_ , thanks to preventative measures. My school nurse at school told me so,” he explained.

“I thought you didn’t like school.”

“She is an exception because she gives me lollipops.”

“I see,” Wirt said, grinning. Mixed logic or not, the conversation lifted his spirits.

“We can . . . g-give _you_ . . . a p-pop . . .”

Wirt and Greg stiffened, both of their eyes widening. The Woodman started forward. Shock filled his disposition. That voice . . . was . . . _Beatrice?_

“We can . . . We can make you regret you ever . . . ever . . . heh,” her voice feebly echoed. Below them, the redhead was curled in the same pose. But her shivering had resumed. “We’ll make y-you . . . regret this, you Beast . . . m-monster. Heh. Heheh.”

“She’s waking up!” the Woodsman said in a hushed tone. He seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with himself, keeping his distance as Wirt dropped down to meet her. Greg was quick to follow and soon they were attempting to pull Beatrice into a sitting position.

The uncovered skin on her arms was cold, trembling, but full of building strength underneath. By the time she was sitting, she was already beginning to stand. The fire wafted hot air towards them.

“Thank you . . .” she said, watching them with newfound firmness. It was uncanny how she stood just then; she had within her delicate stature a type of ferocity that made Wirt question why he’d doubted her. Her sudden figurative resurrection was magic all on its own.

“Beatrice! I knew you would be okay!” Greg wailed, knocking into her. She _oofed_ , holding him happily while her attention trained on Wirt and the Woodsman, then back to Wirt.

The invitation in her eyes was breathtaking on its own. The teen found his spilt frustrations leading into gratitude and he joined the group hug, heaving his miraculous surprise in laughable cries. Too loud for his liking, but he couldn’t care less.

“Beatrice . . . you’re okay,” Wirt whispered. “Oh, Beatrice . . .”

Gregory hummed an enthusiastic note of appreciation, not letting go.

Beatrice offered a lopsided grin. “I hope you d-didn’t actually believe I would stay asleep forever.”

“I was scared, Beatrice . . .”

At this, she stopped smiling.

“I didn’t know w-what to  . . . think anymore. The Beast is . . . he’s . . .”

“A beast. Yes, Wirt. The Unknown can’t survive with him in control,” she said darkly, causing Gregory to step away. The shadows in that moment felt pronounced, depraved, devoid of compassion. “I’m going to stop him. A-and if I can’t do it alone, then we’ll do it together, but we can’t give up now. This is what we’re fighting for. For life.”

In their silence, the Woodsman came forward. “Girl . . . I must ask you . . . when you were asleep, did you . . .?”

“I spoke to her again,” she answered, picking at the frost on her dress, shivering. “She said her magic was slipping away . . . so she . . . the Queen said t-that she couldn’t help us but she could get me to wake up. Her magic . . . is h-hope and it works off of . . . of Wirt’s world, not mine.”

 _My world . . ._ Thinking deeply, Wirt squeezed shut his eyes. It made sense, but not really. Beatrice always seemed like she would be the one to make everything alright, her devotion to the cause constantly steadfast. He himself had known that helping her was what would be required in order for the Unknown to stabilize and let him and his brother home. He’d always thought that she would be the one to deal the final blow, if the Woodsman couldn’t do it. There was no one he knew that had more conviction than Beatrice.

“I don’t know how . . . we can defeat him unless Wirt is willing to make a sacrifice.”

“What kind of . . .?”

“She said it’d be dangerous. There’s a chance . . . you may lose yourself if you confront him,” Beatrice answered solemnly. “I-I don’t know if you and Greg will be able to get back safely together . . . not the same. The Queen told me the risk. I’m s-sorry . . . I can’t demand that of you, so . . . if you don’t . . .”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s fine.” His nerves were spiking, pinching his insides, spiraling deep into his gut. Fear and resignation found ahold of him. _I must at least keep hope. It’s the only thing that will save us now . . ._ Survival in the Unknown under the Beast’s rule was somehow impossible to imagine, not now that Beatrice had offered him an alternative. If there was _anything_ he could do to prevent the disaster from climaxing in the Unknown, he would take it. _As long as Beatrice and Greg are safe._

“What do you mean?” Gregory prodded in a concerned tone. “What’s going to h-happen?”

“Wirt . . . Gregory . . .” Beatrice said. Her expression was guilty. It was tortured. “You two . . . are the only ones right now that have the p-power to get . . . near the Beast without him stopping you. The people of the Unknown have lost their magic. Woodsman, you may have an advantage to get closer, but the Beast will not be stopped by y-you. So . . . so . . . Wirt. If you have enough hope in you, you might be able to put out the lantern.”

“Let me go!” the youngest roared, lifting his arms in a stance of confidence. “I’ll save the Unknown from the scary Beast and I’ll save Wirt too!”

“ _No_ , Greg. No,” Wirt snapped, frowning at him. “You want to help, but you’ll just . . .”

Gregory let his arms fall, looking hurt.

The teen sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I got us into this mess. I’m going to get us out of it. I want you to stay h-here with Beatrice and the Woodsman.”

“We should go together, Wirt,” the former bluebird amended, gesturing towards the eerie reaches of the forest. “There’s no guarantee y-you’ll be fine on your own. Once we reach him . . . then . . . then you can try.”

“The further you are from him, the better. I don’t know what I’m walking into . . . but . . . I don’t think this is something you all want to see, either . . .”

The Woodsman grabbed his axe, stomping in the direction Beatrice had pointed. “I think we should go. I’m not about to let him have his way a second time. This is . . . not something I’m going to sit around for, even if I must watch the children.”

“What about Greg?” Wirt called after them, as Beatrice began moving ahead with his kin. He followed them without hesitation.

“As long as he keeps hope, he’ll be fine . . .” she called back, “and . . . together is how we’ve always won.”

 

o-o-o-o

 

Desperation never quite felt so thick. The atmosphere was piercingly chilly; frost crystallized at Wirt’s mouth, and his lungs were straining as though he were breathing in pure shadow. Running ahead of Beatrice and Gregory, escaping down the hillside into a devastated village, trekking across the vague footprints in the snow as the Woodsman plowed through at an insane pace towards the settlement.

At first glance, Wirt about lost his marbles at how bad everything looked as it appeared in the nighttime fog, raising out of it like twisted monuments of terror. Trees were overgrown and withered where ice encased their branches, crushing homes and splitting walls. Something told him not to look too close at the trees, but when he did he realized the familiar twist of their oily branches, the contorted faces adorning each one, hollows of despair; he wanted to scream.

 _The entire village has been turned to Edelwood._ It was disgusting. It was detestable. It was — _what are those lights?_

In front of him and the Woodsman, behind another gnarled bend in the streets, the sky pulsed with lights, appearing with a shimmer of daylight, the rise of dawn, the morning streaks of compassion. Awe abounded within Wirt for a considerable moment, that selfsame hope he’d needed exploding into a tangible force. Even the Woodsman slowed.

“Those lights . . .” They were stars, tiny suns, brimming brighter than the flame igniting in his heart.

And then there were two suns, two twins, blasting their strength.

And then the Woodsman started running once more, towards those suns.

And then the suns were too close.

And then the sky was not so bright but filled with the gray of a blizzard.

And then a woman screamed.

And then Wirt darted towards them.

And then it was dark and freezing and there was only the wind and his footsteps and the Woodsman and the shake of a lantern and those two suns.

And then _he_ screamed.

“Stay back! D-don’t do it!” Wirt yelled into the gusts, reaching forth, trying to stop the Woodsman before he got too close to the Beast. It was so much worse than he’d thought.

His hope was no match for the desparations of an old man. The Woodsman barreled forward. His hand outstretched, his other arm swinging an axe, he attacked the Beast, meaning to chop his way to the lantern if it cost him his life.

The forgotten King’s eyes bore into Wirt’s corneas as the abomination turned, those black antlers swinging, cape covering up the teen’s view in a swath of dark depravity. The Woodsman’s hand grabbed the lantern's handle in that moment, although his blow fell short of the creature’s form. The lantern shook from the Beast’s continued grasp coupled with the grappling of Anna’s father.

Alarm pulled every molecule in Wirt to attention. Shock and dread conflicted within himself while he was forced to watch their unlikely struggle. Would he be able to help if he ran closer? Was this really all it took to bring the winter to an end?

The second swing of the axe deterred Wirt from that option, as this time it looked as if it would meet its mark. At the same instance, the Beast raised a spindly limb towards the Woodsman.

Wood splintered, the harrowing effects of a tool finding its grueling place in unnatural timber. It was too dim to see exactly what was occurring, too soon for his brain to register anything more than a confusing blur. There was the sound of something soft smashing against the ground. The freezing climate couldn’t stop the nervous sweat trickling down Wirt’s neck.

_Something isn’t right here._

He didn’t see the Beast’s eyes, but there was a horrible shadow lingering and the winds were relentless. Wirt squinted, instinctively submerged in panic. _I need to see._ He forced his feet to approach them. His heart was thrumming an intense beat in his chest.

Something about this advised him not to speak. And then he couldn’t speak. The Woodsman was seized in a tangle of Edelwood branches, his head lolling over a particularly distressing trunk, icy, ligneous blades made stiff in a matter of a second. His axe was lodged in one of the Edelwood stalks. Wirt was only able to see it under the glow of the lantern, hanging listlessly from the Beast’s grotesque fingers.

“Disappointing . . .” the Beast drawled, turning again. His headlight-like eyes came into view, casting a prison lighthouse’s glow too quickly towards Wirt and the Woodsman’s fallen shape. The shadows warped and parted for him in that split moment, wriggling under his presence.

Wirt felt like parting too, fear multiplying within himself as that train seemingly came towards him, rushing forward to smash into his hopes and dreams and crush them beyond revival. _WhatamIdoing? WhatamIdoing? WhatamIdoing?_ This was no longer a maid’s tale to scare little children into behaving. This was _real_ and he was _real_ and who was Wirt to believe he could actually do anything to stop this _King_?

The darkness engulfed the world. Without warning, Wirt was blind. The blizzard ripped his pointed cap off of his head, his cape flapping violently, collar choking him a bit too realistically.

He imagined Beatrice’s scream after she finds out that he had failed. He imagined Gregory’s cries when he discovers Wirt had succumbed to the same fate as he did — becoming food for the Edelwood menace that prowls the Unknown. He imagined Beatrice, running towards him in the dark, wanting to sacrifice herself like the Woodsman even though he was the only one that even stood a chance against the Beast.

And fat chance he had. He could barely stand. He couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing. Wirt was probably the _worst possible_ choice for the Queen to have made regarding hero replacement.

He wasn’t any kind of hero. He was a boy who wrote bad emotional poetry and who was afraid of talking to Sara and who made the mistake to try. He was a boy who got lost in an impossible forest and who needed a Beast in order to find out the value of family and who thought the words of magical creatures could actually amount to something.

Why did he even need to try? What was the point of flailing when he’d only be sinking further into the abyss? Why should anyone have put their trust in _him_? His teeth began to chatter. He shut his eyes, although it made no difference.

 _It is because . . ._ a chorus echoed in his head, _because . . ._

The Unknown was worth fighting for. No matter how useless the fight may be, no matter what sort of dent he could put in the Beast’s impenetrable wall, there was merit in trying. There was a cause worthy of the effort.

The Unknown was the place Wirt had made his first real friend, where he had found the love he held for his brother and his life, where he tested his resolve and became the closest thing he could be to a true hero. On many occasions, he was immersed in the special atmosphere of the Unknown up to the point where his very bones felt the mood of the air. Here he witnessed families living to make their dreams come true or just to enjoy themselves as long as they are together.

Here was a place he didn’t mind getting lost in. The Unknown had become one of his homes.

It felt as if every single feeling he’d ever had rushed into one force that pushed out from his chest into the attacking storm. He let it rise into an explosive roar of power, his legs darting forward, his arms reaching blindly yet purposefully towards his future.

Wirt _ran_.

In the shadows, Wirt registered the heated metal of the lantern grazing his fingertips while it fell out of the Beast’s hand before he saw the light return or heard the exclamation of anger or figured out that his left foot had caught itself on an Edlewood root or even that momentum had carried him unceremoniously into the monster himself. Instead of paying attention to the contorted wooden body of the Beast that he was pressing against, instead of shrinking under the agony of long-lost souls, instead of looking up at those frightening eyes, Wirt flipped backwards and again swiped at the falling lantern.

Before, Wirt had seen the devastation that the dropped lantern could inflict — that the _Beast_ could inflict. When he had thought the Woodsman was the Beast, he had kicked the lantern to the ground and an Edelwood caught on fire. Now the only Edelwood trees around were the Woodsman and the townspeople . . . and he was sure that the depraved King wouldn’t have mourned the tragedy.

 _No!_ his entire mind exploded, the lantern coming threateningly close to the wood-laden earth.

“No!” the Beast growled at the same instance, curling his fingers together a bit too late.

The Edelwood that sprouted from underneath the Woodsman’s tree had taken too long to reach the lantern — and so did Wirt’s attempt, as the object smashed hard against the jarring snow. The cover that had once separated its unholy flame from the world came unhinged, flinging open from impact.

But that didn’t mean that Wirt wasn’t close enough to prevent it from setting the town aflame. Having lost his balance, the fifteen year-old’s hand accidentally — awfully — slipped inside the opening, finding a tortuous home in the burning core of the Beast’s soul.

“Foolish boy.”

He yanked his hand out of the lantern immediately, feeling the fire eat up his skin, his nails, his hair, his clothes, his hope, as if he were just another Edelwood branch. _It hurts. Everything hurts._ It was as if pain branded itself into Wirt, asking for more of him when he had nothing to give.

He was curled up on his side, one hand strangling his other wrist, eyes tearing up and staring at his burning hand while he tried to roll in the snow but couldn’t find the authority to tell his body to do anything other than struggle against the misery.

“Ah-aa-ah-ahh . . .!” He choked, imagining that his throat was closing up in liquid smoke, freezing and empty, too full yet too demanding. _B-bea-beatrice . . . Greg . . . Ahh! Ah! It hurts!_

A laugh, the Beast’s laugh, prodded him cruely like the stinging wind. “For a moment I thought you might have tricked me . . . but I see you’re just a wistful little boy.”

He didn’t have the energy to be mad, fear making his eyes pop as he clutched his arm harder, witnessing dizzily what should have been burn markings turn into snaking black veins that traveled through his system. “Hhh . . . h-help . . .! Ah-ahhh!”

“You’re no better than the rest.”

Another scream ripped from Wirt’s stiffening throat, his very blood pulsing with the Unknown’s curse. His vision distorted as he saw in himself the makings of a leaf, filled to the brim with deadly life, and saw his skin flake and harden everywhere, resembling tree bark. His head sagged with new weight sprouting from his temples. Pain. He wanted to pass out.

It was silent inside of him all of a sudden. The pounding of his heart faded into a dull throb. There was coldness where his hope used to be . . . there was nothing where his resolve had been. Hate had become love’s master.

Wirt’s eyes, now excessively bright, cast their twin streams over the Woodsman’s unnatural cage, over the familiar shell of the Beast, over the destroyed town, taking everything in with a fresh perspective. Had he been fighting before to stop this? Really?

It just didn’t make sense.

“Do you see now . . .?” the Beast prompted casually. Those two eyes seemed insignificant now, the sort of eyes one stared at only to determine if there was any kind of interest to be had in them. “You cannot stop me. No one can win.”

Unable to find preference in responding, Beast Wirt stayed silent.

“Bring me the lantern.”

 _Why not?_ He could remember his former protests, but at the moment they were unreasonable to him. He had no use for the lantern. Might as well return it to the one person who had given him clarity. It’s not like he needed it for much longer anyway.

The monarch of retribution triumphantly plucked the lantern from Beast Wirt’s contributing claws, letting off what unmistakably felt like a smile. Although his attention wasn’t on him, but on a space behind the former human.

“Wirt! No!” a girl’s voice shouted, cracking in her despair. When Beast Wirt turned to see what was so special about that, he couldn’t help smiling too. He knew this girl.

“Hello, _Beatrice_.” Looks like he didn’t imagine her scream before, after all.

“W-wirt . . .” she hiccuped, shaking. She seemed scared. Another smaller voice, a boy’s, let loose a tiny sob, the source hidden from view.

The King of Beasts put his hand on his subject’s shoulder, chuckling in a deep baritone joy. “I think I’ll leave these two to you.”

He chuckled too, enjoying the fear thickening the air. “My pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are still keeping up with this story which has been on a horrid hiatus, I offer my greatest thanks. I've recently found the muse to continue the leap to the conclusion of my OtGW fics with the end of the school year, so I'm excited to get back at it! Forgive me for taking this on a dark path, but when I said I had plenty in store for this story, I wasn't meaning to disappoint. And no. It's not quite over yet. Let me know how you think I'm gonna end this . . . muahahaha.


	29. Chapter 29: Tie Up Dead Ends

**Chapter 29: Tie Up Dead Ends**

It was silent inside. Outside . . . inside . . . there was distinction in the lack of a wind, of the ringing of his ears, of his drifting in a space unknown.

Wirt was dizzy. He was dormant.

Inside of his mind, he was . . . asleep. Breathing uncomfortably, he forced himself to open his eyes.

A moment passed before he registered that he was lying down in a bed . . . his own bed. The first thing Wirt saw was the cluttered table in his room, a cassette player resting on the desk.  _Sara . . . I made a recording for her . . ._

Standing with difficulty, he shoved his sheets aside and gazed around the familiar setting. What was he doing indoors? At his house?

"Wirt! Breakfast!" his mom's voice carried up from downstairs. His heart throbbed at hearing it. Too many memories suddenly surfaced . . . good ones . . . bad ones . . .

He blinked, turning towards the door. "I . . . thought I was . . ."  _In the . . . Unknown?_ That's right . . . he had been trying to get back a tape he made for Sara . . . and then he had been trying to get back home. How did he get back home?

_What happened?_

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Wirt wondered if the whole experience had been a dream . . . just a sad finale to his sad night out alone. Unable to bear the thought, and thinking rather hard about it, he attempted to walk down the stairs with uneven steps. Half of his body was numb still.

In the kitchen, the delectable scent of bacon and pancake batter wafted towards the teen as he stared at the sight before him. His mom wasn't alone. Wirt's biological father, a man he'd only seen in pictures, was sitting at the table with a huge smile on his face.

"Dad . . .?" Wirt said, now staring.

"Wirt, son! You're feeling better!" His father stood jovially, meeting Wirt on the other side of the table, whose legs had become the consistency of jelly. A warm, firm hand patted his shoulder, that unbelievably real grin splitting the fibers of Wirt's heart.

_Dad . . . is this . . . you?_  Confusion overwhelmed him but he couldn't help but embrace the man, squeezing tight to that fatherly form as he hugged him back. Wirt felt fresh tears sting his eyes. Was he dreaming? It was too real.

His dad laughed, soft concern entering his tone when Wirt wouldn't let go. "You sure gave us all a scare back then . . . Your friends at school were really awesome to bring you to us in time . . . I'm very grateful you had them to back you up."

It sounded so strange, so out of place. Wirt couldn't believe his ears. "W-what . . .? I thought you . . . that we . . ."

He finally let go, holding in a sob. His mom placed a plate of hot food onto the table while he watched his dad breathing. While he watched him looking at him. Listening to him.

"Sara told me that you had been wanting her to listen to a tape you made . . . Wirt, you don't know how proud I am to hear you're chasing your dreams," he explained further. But the words didn't make any sense. "I love you, son."

He couldn't stop himself from trembling, from crying right then and there. " _I love you, son."_  How could it be real? How could any of it be real? "D-dad! Dad! I love you so much! I missed you! I never got to t-to know you! But I . . . but I . . ."  _I never got to know you . . ._  Everything coming out of his mouth made him feel backwards and broken.

His parents were now the ones staring at him. His mom looked stricken, eyes trained on his breakdown. But his dad . . . he was smiling sadly at Wirt. There was an infinite strangeness in his expression, as if he were the likeness of a photograph taken before death could rewrite its meaning.

"Dad . . . you . . . you died a long time ago . . ." Wirt mumbled, "didn't you . . .?"

Wirt's mother gasped softly. "Walter . . ." It was his father's name, one spoken in times of grief, the times that she had thought he hadn't been listening. Wirt used to look at hidden old albums and imagine a childhood with a father figure he could appreciate . . . one who wouldn't toss him aside or discourage his ambitions. For so long, he had scorned the loss of Walter, who would serve him no greater injustice than to have died before Wirt was mature enough to remember him. For so long, he was the sole family member who understood him . . . but there were too many times when Wirt didn't believe in him, either.

"Where . . . have you been my whole life?" he choked, sniffling. "I always . . . always wanted to  _know_  you . . ."

"Wirt, I'm still here," Walter said seriously, sincerely. "I'm here with you and that's what matters."

"Y-you can't be . . ."

"I am, Wirt," his father insisted, beaming once more. "If I'm not here then how am I supposed to tell you that Sara wants to walk you to school?"

"S-she . . . huh?"

"Sara called earlier and asked if you would be ready today," Wirt's mom supplemented, putting another sizzling plate onto the table. Boy, it smelled good. "We thought we might get prepared just in case."

"She would actually do that?" the teen muttered. "She's never asked to do that before!" Hope glimmered within him, paired with a sorrowful bit of shock and shrouded understanding.  _I must be dreaming._

"Looks like she finally came around," Walter said as Wirt repeated the cycle of needing to collapse but being too full of energy to do so. "How about some breakfast first? You must be hungry."

Something must have sapped his appetite, because at that moment Wirt was shaking his head. He couldn't believe any of this. "I'm fine. Thank you. I just . . . there's too many  _questions_. How did . . . I wonder if she liked my tape!"

"I bet she did," Wirt's dad said the instant that a knock came at the door. "Must be her!"

"Ah! Okay. Okay! I'm ready," he said hastily, turning around, barely noticing how weird it was not wearing his cape. He practically ran to the door, snatching up his backpack without a second thought, feeling dizzy.

When he opened it, it was in fact Sara waiting for him. She wasn't wearing any makeup. Her dark skin brimmed with beauty. "Hello, Wirt . . . you feeling okay?"

"Y-yes, I . . . well . . ."

"I was worried about you," she said, all too kindly. "And . . . I wanted to thank you for coming to the Halloween party."

"O-oh?" Wirt couldn't help but stare. If this was a dream then he didn't want to wake up.

Laughing a bit, Sara began walking with him down the neighborhood street, endearingly sheepish. She was looking at him as if she knew something he could only guess at. "It was a lot of fun having you there."

"R-really?" he said nervously.

"And . . . I liked your tape."

Before he could respond, a jolt of excitement and pain pierced through Wirt, causing him to hiss and double over. The world darkened and shifted. When he attempted to see, he was shaken with the change of scenery.

It was a deep forest of autumn colors, huge trees that groped for purchace in the sky, bushes of gold and fire . . . and in front of him was a red-haired girl wearing a simple blue dress, stark yet simple in the limelight.

He wanted to cry at seeing her face, those dappled cheeks, a fighter's spirit held in with care. Beatrice's commonplace frown turned into a smile of compassion. "Wirt . . . follow me."

His cape billowed in the gentle breeze as he did so, suddenly bewitched by fascination. Her confidence was alluring, purposeful, while she showed him the way. Wirt was speechless. He tried to question what was wrong with him — what he was forgetting — and why the forest looked so friendly, but he unveiled no clue.

"You know that we'll welcome you always, don't you?" she asked him as they came across a rushing underground river, water crashing against the span of rock and vegetation. Beatrice hopped onto a large tree that had fallen across the gap. "My family wants you to stay with us."

"Beatrice . . ." Wirt squinted. The ground seemed so far beneath him. He balanced a precarious path to the other side, relishing in the firm press of grass on his mismatched shoes.  _I forgot. This place is worth protecting._

"I want you to stay with us, Wirt . . ." she said, looking at him with a chuckle. "Since you can't get back home . . . well . . . no. Even if you can, you said yourself you'd like it here. You can be yourself here. You can be happy here."

Sadness hit him this time, a wash of unease. Of course he wanted that. But . . . there was no way, was there? It felt wrong. "Beatrice?"

"We're here," she announced as soon as the mill-house came into view, rustic and calm. Wirt's thoughts left him while they approached the young boy waiting at the door. He had a head of brown and an innocence reminiscent of childhood.

The boy looked up at them with a smile, revealing a tiny black turtle in his hands.

The air splintered around Wirt, heat smashing the contours of his mind. Cringing, he forced himself to focus, to overcome the horrid fear and guilt consuming everything. Because in front of him was not Beatrice's brother, Thomas. It was Greg.

Those cute eyes were swallowing him whole, becoming great black pits . . .

"Wirt . . . don't leave . . ." his brother begged. His voice was distorted, the only object in sight now being the squirming turtle in his hands.

_Gregory . . . I forgot . . . I forgot Greg . . ._ Wirt realized in repulsive terror. A headache pinched the sides of his consciousness. His vision blacked.

_I left them behind in the forest._

_The Beast destroyed the Unknown._

_I tried to stop him._

_Pain._

_It hurts._

"It hurts . . ."

_It hurts._

"Beatrice . . . G-greg . . ."

_Save me._

"I'm sorry . . . I-I'm sorry . . ."

_I've failed._

_It's over._

Memories of the past few weeks in the Unknown swirled harshly within the void. He'd been turned into a monster. He had lost.

_I need . . . I need another chance._

_Just one more chance._

_Please!_

"P-please . . ."

Sleepiness overtook him. The shadows were spinning beneath his eyelids . . . within his dream. He was slipping . . .

Slipping . . .

_Slipping . . ._   _away . . ._

o-o-o-o

The afterlife was pure white. There was nothing there besides suspension, a light that made sleepiness a forever relaxation.

"Child . . . wake up . . ."

Fizzling energy warmed his bones. Wirt saw he was floating in a cloudscape . . . there was a faded angel blessing the space in front of him. Her hair swam freely, reddish with streaks of blue. Her yellow dress was tattered, rays of sunlight fighting to survive. There were no birds in the sky.

_You're . . ._

"The Queen . . ." she answered, gazing at him with such love, such regret. "I am sorry."

_What happened?_ Wirt found that he could not bring himself to speak. Yet his words echoed loudly in the fluffy sphere.

"You took some of his power when you became like him," the Queen of the Clouds explained solemnly. "But he no longer needs the lantern . . . he has tossed it aside . . . and set the town on fire . . ."

_What?_

"Your friends, Beatrice and your brother Gregory . . . your new form has lost affection for them and now seeks to harm." Tears welled in her sympathetic gaze. "I don't have the power to stop my husband. I don't have the power to stop you."

"No! No!" he exploded outwards, speaking again from his lips. "I can't let that happen! I have to stop this! I d-don't want to be the cause of this!"

"I am the cause of this," she said, gesturing slowly to herself, "but I came to allow you one final option."

"What option . . .?"

"Do you wish for peace enough to never doubt your choice?"

Whatever it was, he didn't envision anything would be worth keeping if it meant losing here. "Yes."

"Then you may have my future." Bending forward, the Queen became a halo of brightness, her human shape dimming in the center. The shimmering in the atmosphere intensified. "Tell him . . . I love him."

Wirt felt his chest swell happily, involuntarily drinking in magic. However, the Queen's echoing words were heavy. He didn't have the time to ask her about it.

Her light touch was a ghost's whisper on his forehead. For some reason, he knew it meant he wasn't forsaken. With that blessing, she was gone.

In her place the halo swarmed around him. Good feelings replaced what Wirt might have experienced. He smiled.

_Don't worry._

The light was blinding. Refreshing.

_I can do this._

o-o-o-o

Wirt was thrown into his body in a bone-shattering return of — of —

"B-bea-beatrice!" he yelled, in the process of being half-strangled as the Unknown came into view. The blistering warmth of fire tested the nighttime air and the glow of his skin lit up the distraught expression on Beatrice's face. Her real face.

She was breathing heavily, flushed and angry, but relief smoothed her visage into something less afraid. The grip on his neck and chest loosened. Their position suggested that she hadn't been there long. "Wirt . . .?"

"Let me up!" he huffed. Smoke got into his lungs, making it difficult to breathe alongside Beatrice holding him down.

After she shifted, releasing him, he caught sight of his brother sprawled on the wet ground.  _Greg. Oh no._  Edelwood was wrapped around his legs and arms. He seemed to be struggling to get free, hyperventilating softly.

_Did I . . .?_

"It's really you . . ." Beatrice said, seeing the retreating branches on his head and the way his skin was returning to normal, glowing only by the reflection of the roaring flames. "Wirt . . . Wirt! We have to help Greg!" Whipping around, she kneeled beside the boy, tugging at the weakening strains of Edelwood bit by bit.

Tears stinging his eyes along with the approaching smoke, Wirt fell to the ground and began ripping at the roots. When Gregory saw him, he tensed but quickly offered a smile. At Wirt's touch, the Edelwood was akin to cobweb in his hands.

"Thanks . . . Wirt," Greg said, coughing. Immediately, Beatrice pulled the seven year-old to his feet, holding him close to her. She didn't look to have the strength to pick him up after all that had happened.

Wirt, now fully aware of the situation, felt a soul-crushing resolve harden in his chest. Whatever the Queen did to him to let him return to them . . . he knew it would take something more than a feeling in order to save them. There was a reality in their desperation that his dreams couldn't touch on.

"We have to get away from the fire," he said hastily, grabbing Greg and Beatrice by their hands and making sure to take a path opposite of the blistering town. On the way, the head of a terrified Jason Funderburker popped out of Greg's satchel. Sounds of crumbling roofs and trees crashing into each other reverberated in the sweltering heat, coupled with the brief chill of winter winds. If they had been any closer, the soot would have covered their clothes . . . and closer still . . .

"What can we do?" Beatrice yelled while Wirt carried them across the stretch of land, towards the way they came. It was a forest, but it was far away from the fire and covered in snow and ice. As long as Beatrice and Greg were safe, he'd be able to . . . do  _something_.

An answer formulating, Wirt scanned the area ahead of them.  _No._  He stopped in his tracks, holding tight to his companions. "Stop," he hissed out, making sure that Greg specifically didn't trip.

Beatrice, in the midst of asking something, stopped too. She saw him. The Beast was standing in the forest, blocking their escape. His twin eyeballs were pinned in their direction, watching them . . . no, watching the fire behind them.

"The Beast . . ." Greg whispered.

In that instant, Wirt let go of their hands, spreading his arms out wide as if to shield them both. He didn't know what he was doing. He just was.

There was a moment of tension, of waiting, and then the Beast lowered his gaze. Only instead of being multi-colored, it was pure white and blinding. "I can't feel anything."

Wirt stared forward. He kept his arms in the same position.

"Has she . . . gone?" the Beast asked no one, although he watched Wirt's defiance passively. "Am I . . . finally . . . alone here?"

The word  _alone_  was stark, brittle, the sore crevice of an enormous statement. When Wirt pondered its significance, he noticed how the blizzards had stilled, the very wind listening for a sign that the abomination's nemesis was hiding somewhere.

The onslaught of tough, heroic comebacks that pounded in Wirt's skull laid dormant within him. Before his eyes was none other than a villain basking in his destructive finale, standing in the center of a wasteland. No matter what the teen wished to say, to do, there was a reality he would be forced to face: the Beast himself was the sole person who could change the fate of the Unknown.

All along, the Beast was the one who held the true power over his evil.

The Queen's struggle was never destined to succeed.

"You're not alone," Greg offered tentatively, causing Wirt to tense.

_Greg . . . this is not the time for that . . ._  Panic rose in his chest. His heart rate accelerated profoundly. Wirt's mouth became dry. His greatest desire at that instant was for the Beast to ignore the comment, to turn his attention away from his brother and his friend, for the King's long-lost ideals not to turn into anger in his mourning.

Beatrice didn't move. Greg perhaps sensed the risk of speaking, since he stopped talking.

The Beast stared.

And stared.

It was an unfathomable level of forever as he stared.

And stared.

Wirt's arms started to sag.

Then he stared.

"Do you dare pity me?" the Beast droned emptily. By breaking the silence between them, teetering desperation exploded into life.

He couldn't afford to let Gregory say something rash. Too much hinged on their encounter to go well. He had to redirect his attention. However . . . Wirt hadn't expected the Beast to respond like that.

Whatever the Queen had done to bring him back . . . maybe it was to create an opportunity that was impossible to reach before.  _Is there a way to be sure?_

Wirt, sensing his hostility, allowed his arms to drop. He took a breath. "You have everything you want now, don't you? You've won."

"Shut your mouth." The Beast bristled, spiking fear into their hearts.

Wirt could hear Beatrice breathing heavily, anger radiating off her, but Greg was clenching his fists intently, a shiver occasionally rippling across his determined pose.

"What would you know about victory?" the monster continued. "What would you know about strength? Foolish boy. Foolish children. I can sense your fear. You're in no place to dish out  _pity_  or reason."

The floor began to quiver, the roots of the forest coming alive beneath the snow. It approached them unsteadily.

"Watch out!" Beatrice screamed, pushing Greg to her right as a large trunk sprouted out of the spot he had been standing in. At that same second, Wirt found himself jumping hurdles by his feet as a particularly mobile serpent of a tree vined a path to capture him.

"Will you beg mercy of me now? Will you run?" he said mirthlessly. "Will you forsake it all to prove your falsity?"

_It can't —_ "Beatrice!" Wirt exclaimed, tripping on the tree that had been circling him in a mad dash to his friend's side. He grabbed onto a large branch that was twisting around the girl, finding that it didn't bend as easily as his own Edelwood had.  _No. Please._  That same branch whipped in a circle and forcefully captured his left wrist.

"Oof! This is bad," Greg said, being lifted upside down by another tree that still had green leaves attached to its edges.

Beatrice wheezed, "Wirt! Greg! We have to . . . get out of here . . ."

"No, no, I — Beast! King!" Wirt said loudly, tugging against his binds. "You don't have to do this!"

"Of course I don't."

"Tell me what you want from us!"

"You assume too much," the Beast stated, but the trees attacking them slowed. "You believe you're strong because you stopped yourself from draining your friends."

_Who's assuming now?_  Wirt lifted his face, letting his voice carry. "That's wrong! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the Queen's sacrifice!"

" _What_  sacrifice?" he spat, those orbs shining.

"She gave me her power so that I could have control over myself," the male said, flexing his fingers. "She told me I could have her future . . . I think she died so I could come back to the Unknown."

"Her  _future_  . . . you say . . ." His bitterness was weak.

"She told me to tell you that she loves you."

At this, the Beast became quiet. The Edelwood stopped writhing entirely. He seemed to drift off into space, watching the cloudy blackness of the sky and the fire that licked the smoldering village down below.

There was definitely something human in that gesture.

"Despair . . . and hope . . . They are not meant to stand alone," the Beast said. "There is a cycle . . . a balance like night and day . . . and in that cycle people will always fall victim to one and then to another."

Jason Funderburker suddenly fell out of Greg's bag with a ribbiting cry. The bell in his stomach didn't glow. The Beast paid no heed.

"Then why did you fight her?" Wirt attempted. "Why not just rule together? Why all the suffering?"

"Because strength was needed. I thought I could bring strength. Through fear. Through defiance."

"But . . . there are different kinds of strength," Wirt softly averred.

A gust shook their perches, singing eerily through the erected forest. Gregory hummed uncomfortably.

"Mine was the strongest form." The Beast left the forest's shade, taking long strides towards them. His spindly feet pressed into the snow. The Edelwood followed him. "I was meant to succeed. I was meant to win."

The former monarch was barely an arm's length away, towering above. He should have been imposing. Though his aura spoke of sadness.

"I never thought she would leave me."

With the brush of an arm, the Edelwood trees trapping the three of them crumbled easily away. Greg was released in a swooping fall, plopping skillfully onto his tummy.  _Ouch._

"I have no interest in torturing you."

A miracle. It was a true miracle. Wirt couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. Even in the darkness of artificial night, he could see twigs falling off of the Beast's antlers. It wasn't a drastic amount, but it was apparent that getting rid of the trees had affected him.

_What did the Queen really do?_

He swung around, his cape of leaves cracking a little. The town was covered in a mixture of smoke and light. The clouds parted slowly to let the blackness fly, moon peeking through at the burning village . . . and beyond it, at a frozen lake spread wide with reflection. It was thawing quickly under the heat of the approaching fire, gentle ripples reverberating every now and then.

The lake was a mirror . . . and the moon rode the waves to the shore.

"What's left for them? What's the reason of it all?" the King asked, trapped in a beast's body. And softer, "What was I fighting for . . .?"

Beatrice broke free of the final vines. She shoved forward, pointing down at the town with an insistent arm. "If you're really the King, then save your people!"

Greg held his frog close, running up to them. "Please, sir. They need your powers."

" _Rorop!_ " Jason Funderburker urged.

"I know what to do," he responded tartly, although not coldly. Then the King set out alone down the slope, leaving them there on the snowy stretch. He did not ask them to follow, as he seemed content to be slightly forlorn, but they felt welcome to anyway.

Wirt felt his soul singing, felt the change in atmosphere immediately. Beatrice put her arm down. Her breath came in hicks and bumps, silent tears falling from her eyes. Gregory looked serious, staring forward. A smile slowly came to his innocent face.

They saw the Beast's form descend, saw the way he carried himself with purpose as he neared the town. There was a song in the air, an unheard melody, one that rose over the thawing lilies, sweeping high to clear over the stiffened reeds and over the swaying bullrushes, to pluck at a pair of heartstrings. Wirt's heartstrings were touched too . . .

Of the million ways that their journey could have gone . . . this was the one he had never expected. It was bittersweet. It was strong. It was something that would stay with him forever.

_The power of love . . .?_  Gosh, what sorts of muse this would give him for poetry he could only imagine.

"I-I . . . it's really . . . he's . . ." Beatrice stammered, witnessing the first few trees in the flames disintegrate. The three couldn't help but draw closer.

Voices were heightening one after another. They were ones of fear, of shock, of grateful sorrow, of the King's supportive order. The words were muffled even as they came closer. But they knew what was going on as surely as they knew the flames were smothering in the icy wind.

The world was brightening anyway, as the sun began to appear on the horizon, sharing the heavens with the moon. The lake was shimmering with promise. An uproar of excitement met their ears when they stepped underneath the blackened gates.

"Criminy, the stories were true!"

"I'm alive!"

"He's saving us!"

Everyone was gathered in the center of the ruined village, vegetable people and talking animals and brightly dressed humans with a bounce to their step. Wirt couldn't see beyond the masses, so he led Beatrice and his brother around them, hoping to find an opening.

"Excuse me," Wirt hummed, heart thrumming. "'Cuse me. Getting by here . . ."

"Boy!" a wavering exclamation said. When he looked across the townspeople, he caught sight of the source — the Woodsman, appearing weary and pained but rather alive.

"The Woodsman's okay!" Greg cheered, pushing past Wirt to give the old man a hug. "You're okay!"

"Barely so . . . what is going on?"

Beatrice found a spot snug between Wirt and a particularly large and bruised man in the shape of an orange with legs and a shirt. "I'll explain it later . . ." she said. "I have a feeling Wirt did something that brought the King back."

"Yes . . . I . . . I cannot believe it," the Woodsman groaned, lifting his head when the last Edelwood in the town came down, collapsing through a roof. Gregory let go to see, holding his frog up high in spite of his short stature. The citizens whooped and sung.

And then the crowd parted for someone, everyone pushing each other to get out of the way as the Beast emerged from an ash-laden shelter. Only he wasn't the Beast. He was a man, covered in black oil and with twin horns protruding from his head. His cape of leaves was a fluffy cloak that had lost its vigor, hanging limply from his skinny form. His eyes were no longer glowing, but empty white balls that sat in his skull. The moustache above his lip shook when he spoke.

"Children, Woodsman . . ." the King listed, bowing. "There is nothing I can say to deserve your forgiveness."

"Where is my daughter?"

"The girl . . ." he sighed, staying down, "was never in the lantern. She ran from me . . . I did not chase her."

The people were shuffling to keep some distance. Out of the destroyed home, a cucumber boy stumbled into his mother's arms. Commotion rumbled while the King's deepening words reached the group.

The Woodman sucked in a breath. "So . . . she . . ."

"Yes, she may be alive somewhere, wondering where you are."

"Stand, Beast."

Stiffening, the King lifted himself into a more fitting posture, although he appeared broken beyond recovery . . . regardless of his supernatural changes. Those blank eyes were sorrowful as death's unwanted embrace.

"Where will you go?"

Wirt frowned. The King had no castle to return to anymore. No queen to call his own. What could a beast do once he's turned his ways? Never again would the people of the Unknown accept him as their leader.

Never again would they need to.

The King clutched frailly at his chest. "I will release what Edelwood I can . . . and when the people are free of my tyranny, I shall disappear."

"What of the children?"

Wirt felt a chill travel his spine when the troubled man cast his gaze on him.

"They may go home," the King answered. "As long as they wish it, it will be so. That is how it has always been meant for those who defy the Unknown. The dark magic cannot stop them now that I am freed."

_Home . . ._ Wirt glanced at Beatrice. She was tear-stained but smiling, that pinch between her eyes giving off her classic determination to object fate.

"You know, the stories didn't say that coming here is a one-way road," the former bluebird said. "This doesn't have to be it if you don't want it to be."

"Beatrice . . ." he said, glad for the space the townspeople were giving them all of a sudden. "This is my home too. Of course I'll come back. As many times I can, I will."

"Oh, Wirt," Beatrice sniffed, pulling him into a crushing hug. "I'm so happy . . . that you're safe, that this worked out . . ."

He smiled _._  "Aren't you being a bit sappy?"

She pulled away, laughing. Her scoff was playful. "Whatever, nerd."

Greg waved vigorously beside them, watching as the King attempted to walk away. "We forgive you, King-Beast! Thank you!"

"Gregory and Wirt," he said, grinning sadly at them. "I could not be prouder to have such fine souls such as yourselves become the unlikely heroes we needed. You have done me a favor I can never repay."

"T-thank you . . . King . . ." Wirt said. "I'm sorry about . . ."

"Don't be sorry. I've dug my own grave." He chuckled, the sound of an endless abyss. It was thicker in emotion than the entire village's echoing commentary. "Perhaps I will see her soon."

"I . . . will help you find the Edelwood trees," the Woodsman offered, a crease in his brow. "I know . . . the best methods . . ."

"Are you certain? Do I not anger you?"

The Woodsman admitted, "You do . . . but I would rather help you do a good deed . . . and search for my daughter . . . then to return to that empty home."

"What if she's there, waiting for you?"

He chuckled too, somewhat humorlessly. "Don't tempt me, Beast. This may be your last chance to have generosity come your way. Allow me . . . to make amends as well."

"Foolish man . . ." the King mumbled, but it was obvious he was pleased. "Then come along if you wish. I don't want them to suffer any longer. Goodbye, Beatrice, Wirt, Gregory."

"Take care," the Woodsman said. And then the strange duo headed off, a trickle of oil left trailing behind. The song in their steps would travel over the treetops and mountains, over the blackened ravines, and softly it'll fall by a house near a stream . . . over the garden wall.

Wirt was sure of it. But before he could reminisce more, Beatrice took a deep breath and he felt something in the air crackle.

Greg hummed, probably feeling it too.

"I'll see you soon," Beatrice said, beaming for real, a huge smile that lifted Wirt's spirits.

"See ya' soon, Beatrice!" Greg said happily.

"See ya' soon, Beatrice," Wirt said also.  _I have family here now, a home . . . there's no way I won't come back._

The redhead laughed, a sentiment akin to hope in her expression. "To thee. Farewell until then."

Wirt for some reason decided to close his eyes.  _Farewell to you too._

It was as if he was floating somewhere, comfortably at first, and then his entire being was heavy with realization, that he had something to do, something he needed to do.

_Beatrice. Where? What?_

No.  _Greg._ Drowsily opening his eyes in the murky darkness, he kicked below until he could swim towards a lumpy shape in the water. And then . . .

With the last of his newly discovered energy . . .

With the last of his heart to leave . . .

Wirt broke the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is not the last chapter but it's the second to last! I wanted to get this out to you all since I have a bigger demand than for my other fic, King of the Beasts and Queen of the Clouds. (Hm maybe this story can get you a little interested in what was going on back then? Haha.) Anyways, this is really long but worth it, I hope. I loved writing it although making the story believable was quite a challenge. Hope I did not disappoint. One more to go!


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